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By Dr. SamuSjl Johnson. 


monthly;. 






Paul 

and 

Virginia 


BY 

/ 

BERNADIN de St. PIERRE. 







" SEP 3 1887' )f f 

rO^V'J 


FRANKLIN NEWS COMPANY, 
PHILADELPHIA. 

1887. 


TZFTTIROIDTT 0TI02sT. 


Paul and Virginia is the greatest work of Bernadin 
de St. Pierre, born at Havre, France, in 1737. It is one of 
those stories which, told in language simple, natural and 
true, has touched the common heart of the world for gene- 
rations, and will continue to be a classic while time lasts. 
It ranks pre-eminent as a work which delights, instructs and 
purifies. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA 


Situate on the eastern side of the mountain which rises above Port 
Louis, in the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the marks of for- 
mer cultivation, are seen the ruins of two small cottages. These ruins 
are not far from the center of a valley, formed by immense rocks, and 
which opens only towards the north. On the left rises the mountain 
called the Height of Discovery, whence the eye marks the distant sail 
when it first touches the verge of the horizon, and whence the signal is 
given when a vessel approaches the island. At the foot of this moun- 
tain stands the town of the Port Louis. On the right is formed the 
road which stretches from Port Louis to the Shaddock Grove, where the 
church bearing that name lifts its head, surrounded by the avenues of 
bamboo, in the middle of a spacious plain ; and the prospect terminates 
in a forest extending to the furthest bounds of the island. The front 
view presents the bay, denominated the Bay of the Tomb; a little on the 
right is seen the Cape of Misfortune; and beyond rolls the expanded 
ocean, on the surface of which appear a few uninhabited islands; and, 
among others, the Point of Endeavor, which resembles a bastion built 
upon the flood. 

At the entrance of the valley which presents these various objects, the 
echoes of the mountain incessantly repeat the hollow murmurs of the 
winds that shake the neighboring forests, and the tumultuous dashing 
of the waves which break at a distance upon the cliffs; but near the 
ruined cottages all is calm and still, and the only objects which there 
meet the eye are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding rampart. 
Large clumps of trees grow at their base, on their lifted sides, and even 
on their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to repose. The showers, 
which their bold points attract, often paint the vivid colors of the rain- 
bow on their green and brown declivities, and swell the sources of the 


4 


Paul and Virginia . 

little river which flows at their feet, called the river of Fan-Palms, 
Within the inclosure reigns the most profound silence. The waters, the 
air, all the elements are at peace. Scarcely does the echo repeat 
the whispers of the palm trees, spreading their broad leaves, the long 
points of which are gently agitated by the winds. A soft light illumines 
the bottom of this deep valley, on which the sun shines only at noon. 
But, evert at break of day, the rays of light are thrown on the surround- 
ing rocks; and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadows of the 
mountain, appear like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon the 
azure sky. 

To this scene I loved to resort, as I could here enjoy at once the 
jfichness of ah unbounded landscape, and the charm of uninterrupted 
fcblitude. One day, when I was seated at the foot of the cottages, and 
contemplating their ruins, a man, advanced in years, passed near the 
Spot. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the island, his feet were 
bare, and he leaned upon a staff of ebony: his hair was white, and the 
expression of his countenance was dignified and interesting. I bowed 
to him with respect ; he returned the salutation ; and, after looking at 
me with some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the hillock on 
which I was seated. Encouraged by this mark of confidence I thus 
addressed him: “Father, can you teW me to whom those cottages once 
belonged?” “My son,” replied the old man, “those heaps of rubbish, 
and that untilled land, were, twenty years ago, the property of two 
families, who then found happiness in this solitude. Their history is 
affecting; but what European, pursuing his way to the Indies, will pause 
one moment to interest himself in the fate of a few obscure individuals? 
What European can picture happiness to his imagination amidst poverty 
and neglect? The curiosity of mankind is only attracted by the history 
of the great, and yet from that knowledge little use can be derived.” 
‘ Father,” I rejoined, “from your manner and your observation, I per- 
ceive that you have acquired much experience of human life. If you 
have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the history of the ancient 
inhabitants of this desert; and be assured, that even the men who are 
most perverted by the prejudices of the world, find a soothing pleasure 
in contemplating that happiness which belongs to simplicity and virtue.” 
The old man, after a short silence, during which he leaned his face upon 
his hands, as if he were trying to recall the images of the past, thus 
began his narration : 

Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was a native of Normandy, 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


5 


after having in vain solicited a commission in the French army, or 
some support from his own family, at length determined to seek his 
fortune in this island, where he arrived in 1726. He brought hither a 
young woman, whom he loved tenderly, and by whom he was no le.->s 
tenderly beloved. She belonged to a rich and ancient family of the 
same province : but he had married her secretly and without fortune, and 
in opposition to the will of her relations, who refused their consent be- 
cause he was found guilty of being descended from parents who had 
no claims to nobility. Monsieur de la Tour, leaving his wife at Port 
Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in order to purchase a few slaves, to 
assist him in forming a plantation on this island. He landed at Mada- 
gascar during that unhealthy season which commences about the middle 
of October; and soon after his arrival died of the pestilential fever 
which prevails in that island six months of the year, and which will 
forever baffle the attemps of the European nations to form establish- 
ments on that fatal soil. His effects were seized upon by the rapacity 
of strangers, as commonly happens to persons dying in foreign parts; 
and his wife, who was pregnant, found herself a widow in a country 
where she had neither credit nor acquaintance,, and no earthly posses- 
sion, or rather support, but one negro woman. Too delicate to solicit 
protection or relief from any one else after the death of him whom 
alone she loved, misfortune armed her with courage, and she resolved 
to cultivate, with her slave, a little spot of ground, and procure for 
herself the means of subsistence. 

Desert as was the island, the ground left to the choice of the settler, 
she avoided those spots which were most fertile and most favorable to 
commerce: seeking some nook of the mountain, some secret asylum 
where she might live solitary and unknown, she bent her way from the 
town towards these rocks, where she might conceal herself from obser- 
vation. All sensitive and suffering creatures, from a sort of common 
instinct, fly for refuge amidst their pains to haunts the most wild and 
desolate ; as if rocks could form a rampart against misfortune — as if the 
calm of nature could hush the tumults of the soul. That Providence, 
which lends its support when we ask but the supply of our necessary 
wants, had a blessing in reserve for Madame de la Tour, which neither 
xiches nor greatness can purchase : — this blessing was a friend. 

The spot to which Madame de la Tour had fled had already been in- 
habited for a year by a young woman of a lively, good natured and af- 
fectionate disposition. Margaret (for that was her name) was born in 


6 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


Brittany, of a family of peasants, by whom she was cherished and be- 
loved, and with whom she might have passed through life in simple 
rustic happiness, if, mislead by the weakness of a tender heart, she had 
not listened to the passion of a gentleman in the neighborhood, who 
promised her marriage. He soon abandoned her, and adding inhuman- 
ity to seduction, refused to insure a provision for the child of which 
she was pregnant. Margaret then determined to leave forever her 
native village, and retire, where her fault might be concealed, to some 
colony distant from that country where she had lost the only portion of 
a poor peasant girl — her reputation. With some borrowed money she 
purchased an old negro slave, with whom she cultivated a little corner 
of this district. 

Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro woman, came to this spot, 
where she found Margaret engaged in suckling her child. Soothed 
and charmed by the sight of a person in a situation somewhat similiar 
to her own, Madame de la Tour related, in a few words, her past condi- 
tion and her present wants. Margaret was deeply affected by the reci- 
tal ; and more anxious to merit confidence than to create esteem, she 
confessed without disguise, the errors of which she had been guilty. 

“As for me,” said she, “I deserve my fate ; but you, madam — you ! 
at once virtuous and unhappy” — and, sobbing, she offered Madame de la 
Tour both her hut and her friendship. That lady, affected by this ten- 
der reception, pressed her in her arms, and exclaimed : “Ah, surely 
Heaven has put an end to my misfortunes, since it inspires you, to whom 
I am a stranger, with more goodness toward me than I have ever 
experienced from my own relations !” 

I was acquainted with Margaret : and, although my habitation is a 
league and a half from hence, in the woods behind that sloping moun- 
tain, I considered myself as her neighbor. In the cities of Europe, a 
street, even a simple wall, frequently prevents members of the same 
family from meeting for years; but in new colonies we consider those 
persons as neighbors from whom we are divided only by woods and 
mountains ; and above all at that period, when this island had little 
intercourse with the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim to friendship, 
and hospitality towards strangers seemed less a duty than a pleasure. 
No sooner was I informed that Margaret had found a companion, than 
I hastened to her, in the hope of being useful to my neighbor and her 
guest. I found Madame de la Tour possessed of all those melancholy 
graces which, by blending sympathy with admiration, gave to beauty 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


7 


additional power. Her countenance was interesting, expressive at once 
of dignity and dejection. She appeared to be in the last stage of her 
pregnancy. I told the two friends that for the future interest of their 
children, and to prevent the intrusion of any other settler, they had 
better divide between them the property of this wild, sequestered 
valley, which is nearly twenty acres in extent. They confided that task 
to me, and I marked out two equal portions of land. One included the 
higher part of this inclosure, from the cloudy pinnacle of that rock, 
whence springs the river of Fan -Palms, to that precipitous cleft which 
you see on the summit of the mountain, and which, from its resem- 
blance in form to the battlement of a fortress, is called the Embrasure. 
It is difficult to find a path along this wild portion of the enclosure, the 
soil of which is encumbered with fragments of rock, or worn into chan- 
nels formed by torrents ; yet it produces noble trees, and innumerable 
springs and rivulets. The other portion of land comprised the plain 
extending along the banks of the river of Fan-Palms, to the opening 
where we are now seated, whence the river takes its course between 
those two hills, until it falls into the sea. You may still trace the ves- 
tiges of some meadow land; and this part of the common is less rugged, 
but not more valuable than the other; since in the rainy season it be- 
comes marshy, and in dry weather is so hard and unyielding, that it 
will almost resist the stroke of a pickaxe. When I had thus divided the 
property, I persuaded my neighbors to draw lots for their respective pos- 
sessions. The higher portion of land, containing the source of the 
river of Fan Palms, became the property of Madame de la Tour ; the 
lower, comprising the plain on the banks of the river, was allotted to 
Margaret; and each seemed satisfied with her share. They entreated 
me to place their habitations together, that they might at all times enjoy 
the soothing intercourse of friendship, and the consolation of mutual 
kind offices. Margaret’s cottage was situated near the centre of the 
valley, and just on the boundary of her own plantation. Close to that 
spot I built another cottage for the residence of Madame de la Tour; and 
thus the two friends, while they possessed all the advantages of 
neighborhood, lived on their own property. I myself cut palisades 
from the mountain, and brought leaves of fan-palms from the sea-shore 
in order to construct those two cottages, of which you can now discern 
neither the entrance nor the roof. Yet, alas ! there still remain but too 
many traces for my remembrance ! Time, which so rapidly destroys the 
proud monuments of empires, seems in this desert to spare those of 


8 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

friendship, as if to perpetuate my regrets to the last hour of my 
existence. 

As soon as the second cottage was finished, Madame de la lour was 
delivered of a girl. I had been the godfather of Margaret’s child, who 
was christened by the name of Paul. Madame de la Tour desired me 
to perform the same office for her child also, together with her friend, 
who gave her the name of Virginia. “She will be viituous,” cried 
Margaret, “and she will be happy. I have only known misfortune by 
wandering from virtue.” 

About the time Madame de la Tour recovered, these two little estates 
had already begun to yield some produce, perhaps in a small degree 
owing to the care which I occasionally bestowed on their improvement, 
but far more to the indefatigable labors of the two slaves. Margaret’s 
slave, who was called DomingO, was still healthy and robust, though 
advanced in years ; he possessed some knowledge, and a good natural 
understanding. He cultivated indiscriminately, on both plantations, 
the spots of ground that seemed most fertile, and sowed whatever grain 
he thought most congenial to each particular soil. Where the ground 
was poor, he strewed maize; where it was most fruitful, he planted 
wheat; and rice in such spots as were marshy. He threw the seeds of 
gourds and cucumbers at the foot of the rocks, which they loved to 
climb and decorate with their luxuriant foliage. In dry spots he culti- 
vated the sweet potato ; the cotton tree flourished upon the heights, and 
the sugar-cane grew in the clayey soil. He reared some plants of cof- 
fee on the hills, where the grain, although small, is excellent. His 
plantain-trees, which spread their grateful shade on the banks of the 
river, and encircled the cottages, yielded fruit throughout the year. 
And lastly, Domingo, to soothe his cares, cultivated a few plants of 
tobacco. Sometimes he was employed in cutting wood for firing from 
the mountain, sometimes in hewing pieces of rock within the enclosure, 
in order to level the paths. The zeal which inspired him enabled him 
to perform all these labors with intelligence and activity. He was 
much attached to Margaret, and not less to Madame de la Tour, whose 
negro woman, Mary, he had married on the birth of Virginia ; and he 
was passionately fond of his wife. Mary was born at Madagascar, and 
had there acquired the knowledge of some useful arts. She could 
weave baskets, and a sort of stuff, with long grass that grows in the 
woods. She was active, cleanly, and, above all, faithful. It was her 
care to prepare their meals, to rear the poultry, and go sometimes to 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


9 


Port Louis, to sell the superfluous produce of these little plantations, 
which was not, however, very considerable. If you add to the person- 
ages already mentioned, two goats which were brought up with the 
children, and a great dog, which kept watch at night, you will have a 
complete i’dea of the household, as well as of the productions of these 
two little farms. 

Madame de la Tour and her friend were constantly employed in 
spinning cotton for the use of their families. Destitute of everything 
which their own industry could not supply, at home they went bare- 
footed : shoes were a convenience reserved for Sunday, on which day, 
at an early hour, they attended m4ss at the church of the Shaddock 
Grove, which you see yonder. That church was more distant from 
their homes than Port Louis; but they seldom visited the town, lest 
they should be treated with contempt on account of their dress, which 
consisted simply of the coarse blue linen of Bengal, usually worn by 
slaves. But is there, in that external deference which fortune com- 
mands, a compensation for domestic happiness ? If these interesting 
women had something to suffer from the woild, their homes on that 
very account became more dear to them. No sooner did Mary and 
Domingo, from his elevated spot, perceive their mistresses on the road 
of the Shaddock Grove, than they flew to the foot of the mountain in 
order to help them to ascend. They discerned in the looks of their 
domestics the joy which their return excited. They found in their 
retreat neatness, independence, all the blessings which are the recom- 
pense of toil, and they received the zealous services which spring from 
affection. United by the tie of similar wants, and the sympathy of 
similar misfortunes, they gave each other the tender names of compan- 
ion, friend, sister. They had but one will, one interest, one table. All 
their possessions were in common. And if sometimes a passion more 
ardent than friendship awakened in their hearts the pang of unavailing 
anguish, a pure religion united with chaste manners, drew their affec- 
tions towards another life : as the trembling flame rises towards heaven, 
when it no longer finds any aliment on earth. 

The duties of maternity became a source of additional happiness to 
these affectionate mothers, whose mutual friendship gained new strength 
at the sight of their children, equally the offspring of an ill-fated attach- 
ment. They delighted in washing their infants together in the same 
bath, in putting them to rest in the same cradle, and in changing the 
maternal bosom at which they received nourishment. “My friend,” 


10 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


cried Madame de la Tour, “ we shall each of us have two children and 
each of our children will have two mothers.” As two buds which 
remain on different trees of the same kind, after the tempest has broken 
all their branches, produce more delicious fruit, if each, separated from 
the maternal stem, be grafted on the neighboring tree, so these two 
infants, deprived of all their other relations, when thus exchanged for 
nourishment by those who had given them birth, imbibed feelings of 
affection still more tender than those of son and daughter, brother and 
sister. While they were yet in their cradles, their mothers talked of 
their marriage. They soothed their own cares by looking forward to 
the -future happiness of their children ; but this contemplation often 
drew forth their tears. The misfortunes of <3ne mother had arisen from 
having neglected marriage; those of the other for having submitted to 
its laws. One had suffered by aiming to rise above her condition, the 
other by descending from her rank. But they found consolation in 
reflecting that their more fortunate children, far from the cruel preju- 
dices of Europe, would enjoy at once the pleasures of love and the 
blessings of equality. 

Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment been seen as that which the 
two children already testified for each other. If Paul complained of 
anything, his mother pointed to Virginia; at her sight he smiled, and 
was appeased. If any accident befell Virginia, the cries of Paul gave 
notice of the disaster, but the dear little creatufe would suppress her 
complaints if she found that he was unhappy. When I came hither, I 
usually found them quite naked, as is the cmtom of the country, totter.- 
ing in their walk, and holding each other by the hands and under the 
arms, as we see represented the constellation of the Twins. At night 
these infants often refused to be separated, and were found lying in the 
same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms pressed close together, their 
hands thrown round each other’s neck, and sleeping, locked in one 
another’s arms. 

When they began to speak, the first name they learned to give each 
other were those of brother and sister, and childhood knows no softer 
appellation. Their education, by directing them ever to consider each 
other’s wants, tended greatly to increase their affection. In a short 
time, all the household economy, the care of preparing their rural re- 
pasts, became the task of Virginia, whose labors were always crowned 
with the praises and kisses of her brother. As for Paul, always in mo- 
tion, he dug the garden with Domingo, or followed him with a little 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


ii 


hatchet into the woods; and if in his rambles he espied a beautiful flower, 
any delicious fruit, or a nest of birds, even at the top of the tree, he 
would climb up and bring the spoil to his sister. When you met one 
of these children, you might be sure the other was not far off. 

One day as I was coming down that mountain, I saw Virginia at the 
end of the garden running towards the house with her petticoat thrown 
over her head, in order to screen herself from a shower of rain. At a 
distance, I thought she was alone; but as I hastened towards her in order 
to help her on, I perceived she held Paul by the arm, almost entirely 
enveloped in the same canopy, and both were laughing heartily at their 
being sheltered together under an umbrella of their own invention. 
Those two charming faces in the middle of a swelling petticoat, recalled 
to my mind the Children of Leda, enclosed in the same shell. 

Their sole study was how they could please and assist one another; 
for of all other things they were ignorant, and indeed could neither read 
nor write. They were never disturbed by inquiries about past times, 
nor did their curiosity extend beyond the bounds of their mountain. 
They believed the world ended at the shores of their own island, and 
all their ideas and all their effections were confined within its limits. 
Their mutual tenderness, and that of their mothers, employed all the 
energies of their minds. Their tears had never been called forth by 
tedious application to useless sciences. Their mind^ had never been 
wearied by lessons of morality, superfluous to bosoms unconscious of ill. 
They had never been taught not to steal, because everything with them 
was in common; or not to be intemperate, because their simple food 
was left to their own discretion; or not to lie, because they had nothing 
to conceal. Their young imaginations had never been terrified by the 
idea that God has punishment in store for ungrateful children, since 
with them, filial aftection arose naturally from maternal tenderness. All 
they had been taught of religion was to love it, and if they did not offer 
up long prayers in the church, wherever they were, in the house, in the 
fields, in the woods, they raised towards heaven their innocent hands, 
and hearts purified by virtuous affections. 

All their early childhood passed thus, like a beautiful dawn, the 
prelude of a bright day. Already they assisted their mothers in the 
duties of the household. As soon as the crowing of the wakeful cock 
announced the first beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and hastened 
to draw water from a neighboring spring; then returning to the house 
she prepared the breakfast. When the rising sun gilded the points of 


12 


PA UL AND VIRGINIA . 


the rocks which overhang the enclosure in which they lived, Margaret 
and her child repaired to the dwelling of Madame de la Tour, where 
they offered up their morning prayer together. This sacrifice of thanks- 
giving always preceded their first repast, which they often took before 
the door of the cottage, seated upon the grass, under a canopy of plan- 
tain : and while the branches of that delicious tree afforded a grateful 
shade, its fruit furnished a substantial food ready prepared for them by 
nature, and its long glossy leaves, spread upon the table, supplied the 
place of linen. Plentiful and wholesome nourishment gave early 
growth and vigor to the persons of these children, and their countenances 
expressed the purity and peace of their souls. At twelve years of age 
the figure of Virginia was in some degree formed; a profusion of light 
hair shaded her face, to which her blue eyes and coral lips gave the 
most charming brilliancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when she 
spoke; but when she was silent they were habitually turned upwards 
with an expression of extreme sensibility, or rather of tender melan- 
choly. The figure of Paul began already to display the graces of 
youthful beauty. He was taller than Virginia: his skin was a darker 
tint; his nose more aquiline; and his black eyes would have been too 
piercing, if the long eyelashes by which they were shaded, had not im- 
parted to them an expression of softness. He w r as constantly in motion, 
except when his sister appeared, and then, seated by her side, he became 
still. Their meals often passed without a word being spoken; and 
from their silence, the simple elegance of their attitudes, and the beauty 
of their naked feet, you might have fancied you beheld an antique 
group of white marble, representing some of the children of Niobe, but 
for the glances of their eyes, which were constantly seeking to meet, 
and their mutual soft and tender smiles, which suggested rather the idea 
of happy celestial spirits, whose nature is love, and who are not obliged 
to have recourse to words for the expression of their feelings. 

In the mean time Madame de la Tour, perceiving every day some 
unfolding grace, some new beauty, in her daughter, felt her maternal 
anxiety increase with her tenderness. She often said to me, “if I were 
to die, what will become of Virginia without fortune?” 

Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, who was a woman of 
quality, rich, old, and a complete devotee. - She had behaved with so 
much cruelty towards her neice upon her marriage, that Madame de la 
Tour had determine d no extremity of distress should ever compel her 
to have recourse to her hard-hearted relation. But when she became a 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


l 3 

mother, the pride of resentment was overcome by the stronger feelings 
of maternal tenderness. She wrote to her aunt, informing her of the 
sudden death of her husband, and the birth of her daughter, and the 
difficulties in which she was involved, burdened as she was with an 
infant, and without means of support. She received no answer; but 
notwithstanding the high spirit natural to her character, she no longer 
feared exposing herself to mortification; and, although she knew her 
aunt would never pardon her for having married a man who was not of 
noble birth, however estimable, she continued to write to her, with the 
hope of awakening her compassion for Virginia. Many years, however, 
passed without receiving any token of her remembrance. 

At length, in 1738, three years after the arrival of Monsieur de la 
Bourdennais in this island, Madame de la Tour was informed that the 
Governor had a letter to give her from her aunt. She flew to Port Louis; 
maternal joy raised her mind above trifling considerations, and she was 
careless on this occasion of appearing in her homely attire. Monsieur 
de la Bourdonnais gave her a letter from her aunt, in which she in- 
formed her, that she deserved her fate for marrying an adventurer and 
libertine; that the passions brought with them their own punishment; 
that the premature death of her husband was a just visitation from 
Iieaven ; that she had done well in going to a distant island, rather 
than dishonor her family by remaining in France; and that, after all, 
in the colony where she had taken refuge, none but the idle failed to 
grow rich. Having thus censured her niece, she concluded by eulogiz- 
ing herself. To avoid, she said, the almost inevitable evils of marriage, 
she had determined to remain single. In fact, as she was of a very 
ambitious disposition, she had resolved to marry none but a man of high 
rank ; but although she was very rich, her fortune was not found a suf- 
ficient bribe, even at court, to counterbalance the malignant dispositions 
of her mind, and the disagreeable qualities of her person. 

After mature deliberations, she added in a postscript, that she had 
strongly recommended her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 1 . This 
she had indeed done, but in a manner of late too common, which ren- 
ders a patron perhaps even more to be feared than a declared enemy ; 
for, in order to justify herself for her harshness, she had cruelly slan- 
dered her niece, while she affected to pity her misfortunes. 

Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced person could have seen 
without feelings of sympathy and respect, was received with the utmost 
Coolness by Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, biased as he was against her. 


14 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


When she painted to him her own situation and that of her child, he 
replied in abrupt sentences. — “ We will see what can be done — there 
are so many to relieve — all in good time — why did you displease your 
aunt ? — you have been much to blame.” 

Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her heart torn with grief, 
and filled with all the bitterness of disappointment. When she arrived 
she threw her aunt’s letter on the table, and exclaimed to her friend, 

“ There is the fruit of eleven years of patient expectation ! ” Madame 
de la Tour being the only person in the little circle who could read, 
she again took up the letter, and read it aloud. Scarcely had she fin- 
ished, when Margaret exclaimed, “ What have we to do with your re- 
lations? Has God then forsaken us? He only is our father ! Have 
we not hitherto been happy? Why then this regret? You have no 
courage.” Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw herself upon 
her neck, and pressing her in her arms, — “My dear friend !” cried she, 
“my dear friend!” — but her emotion choked her utterance. At this 
sight, Virginia burst into tears, and pressed her mother’s and Margaret’s 
hands alternately to her lips and heart; while Paul, his eyes inflamed 
with anger, cried, clasping his hands together, and stamping with his 
foot, not knowing whom to blame for this scene of misery. The noise 
soon brought Domingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habitation 
resounded with cries of distress, — “Ah, madame! — My good mistress! 
My dear mother!— Do not weep!” These tender proofs of affection 
at length dispelled the grief of Madame de la Tour. She took Paul 
and Virginia in her arms, and, embracing them, said, “You are the 
cause of my affliction, my children, but you are also my only source of 
delight! Yes, my dear children, misfortune has reached me, but only 
from a distance : here I am surrounded with happiness.” Paul and 
Virginia did not understand this reflection ; but when they saw that she 
was calm, they smiled, and continued to caress her. Tranquility was 
thus restored in this happy family, and all that had passed was but a 
storm in the midst of fine weather, which disturbs the serenity of the 
atmosphere but for a short time, and then passes away. 

The amiable disposition of these children unfolded itself daily. One 
Sunday, at daybreak, their mothers having gone to mass at the church 
of the Shaddock Grove, the children perceived a negro woman beneath- 
the plantains which surrounded their habitation. She appeared almost 
wasted to a skeleton, and had no other garment than a piece of coarse 
cloth thrown around her. She threw herself at the feet of Virginia, who 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


15 


was preparing the family breakfast, and said, “My good young lady, 
have pity on a poor runaway slave. For a whole month I have wan- 
dered among these mountains, half dead with hunger, and often pursued 
by the hunters and their dogs. I fled from my master, a rich planter of 
the Black River, who has used me as you see; ” and she showed her 
body marked with scars from the lashes she had received. She added, 
“I was going to drown myself, but hearing you lived here, I said to 
myself, “Since there are still some good white people in this country, I 
need not die yet.” Virginia answered with emotion,— “Take courage, 
unfortunate creature! here is something to eat; ” and she gave her the 
breakfast she had been preparing, which the slave in a few minutes 
devoured. When her hunger was appeased, Virginia said to her, — • 
“Poor woman ! I should like to go and ask forgiveness for you of your 
master. Surely the sight of you will touch him with pity. Will you 
show me the way?” “Angel of heaven!” answered the poor negro 
woman, “I will follow you where you please ! ” Virginia called her 
brother, and begged him to accompany her. The slave led the way, 
by winding and difficult paths, through the woods, over mountains, 
which they climbed with difficulty, and across rivers, through which they 
were obliged to wade. At length, about the middle of the day, they 
reached the foot of a steep descent upon the borders of the Black River. 
There they perceived a well built house, surrounded by extensive plan- 
tations, and a number of slaves employed in their various labors. Their 
master was walking among them with a pipe in his mouth, and a switch 
in his hand. He was a tall thin man, of a brown complexion; his eyes 
were sunk in his head, and his dark eyebrows were joined in one. 
Virginia, holding Paul by the hand, drew near, and with much emotion 
begged him, for the love of God, to pardon his poor slave, who stood 
trembling a few paces behind. The planter at first paid little attention 
to the children, who, he saw, were meanly dressed. But when he ob- 
served the elegance of Virginia’s form, and the profusion of her 
beautiful light tresses which had escaped from beneath her blue cap; 
when he heard the soft tone of her voice, which trembled, as well as 
her whole frame, while she implored his compassion; he took the pipe 
from his mouth, and lifting up his stick, swore, with a terrible oath, that 
he pardoned his slave, not for the love of Heaven, but of her who asked 
his forgiveness. Virginia made a sign to the slave to approach her 
master; and instantly sprang away followed by Paul. 

They climbed up the steep they had descended; and having gained 


i6 


Paul AND VIRGINIA. 


the summit, seated themselves at the foot of a tree, overcome with 
fatigue, hunger and thirst. They had left their home fasting, and 
walked five leagues since sunrise. Paul said to Virginia, — “My dear 
sister, it is past noon, and I am sure you are thirsty and hungry: we 
shall find no dinner here; let us go down the mountain again, and a*k 
the master of the poor slave for some food.’' “Oh, no,” answered Vir- 
ginia, “he frightens me too much. Remember what mamma sometimes 
says, ‘The bread of the wicked is like stones in the mouth.’ ” “What 
shall we do then,” said Paul; “these trees produce no fruit fit to eat;, 
and I shall not be able to find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh 
you.” “God will take care of us,” replied Virginia; “he listens to the 
cry even of the little birds when they ask him for food.” Scarcely had 
she pronounced these words when they heard the noise of - water falling 
from a neighboring rock. They ran thither, and having quenched their 
thirst at this crystal spring, they gathered and ate a few cresses which 
grew on the border of the stream. Soon afterwards, while they were 
wandering backwards and forwards in search of more solid nourish- 
ment, Virginia perceived in the thickest part of the forest, a young palm- 
tree. The kind of cabbage which is found at the top of the palm, 
enfolded within its leaves, is well adapted for food ; but, although the 
stock of the tree is not thicker than a man’s leg, it grows to above sixty 
feet in height. The wood of the tree, indeed, is composed of very fine 
filaments ; but the bark is so hard that it turns the edge of the hatchet, 
and Paul was not furnished even with a knife. At length he thought of 
setting fire to the palm-tree ; but a new difficulty occurred ; he had no 
steel with which to strike fire; and although the whole island is covered 
with rocks, I do not believe it is possible to find a single flint. Neces- 
sity, however, is fertile in expedients, and the most useful inventions 
have arisen from men placed in the most destitute situations. Paul 
determined to kindle a fire after the manner of the negroes. With the 
sharp end of a stone he made a small hole in the branch of a tree that 
was quite dry, and which he held between his feet : he then, with the 
edge of the same stone, brought to a point another dry branch of a dif- 
ferent sort of wood, and, afterwards, placing the piece of pointed wood 
in the small hole of the branch which he held with his feet and turning 
it rapidly between his hands, in a few minutes smoke and sparks of fire 
issued from the point of contact. Paul then heaped together dried grass 
and branches, and set fire to the foot of the palm tree, which soon fell 
to the ground with a tremendous crash. The fire was further useful to 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


17 


him in stripping off the long, thick, and pointed leaves, within which the 
cabbage was inclosed. Having thus succeeded in obtaining this fruit, 
they ate part of it raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, which they 
found equally palatable. They made this frugal repast with delight, 
from the remembrance of the benevolent action they had performed in 
the morning: yet their joy was embittered by the thoughts of the 
uneasiness which their long absence from home would occasion their 
mothers. Virginia often recurred to this subject; but Paul, who felt his 
strength renewed by their meal, assured her, that it would not be long 
before they reached home, and, by the assurance of their safety, tran- 
quilized the minds of their parents. 

After dinner they were much embarrassed by the recollection that they 
had now no guide, and that they were ignorant of the way. Paul, 
whose spirit was not subdued by difficulties, said to Virginia,— “The 
sun shines full upon our huts at noon; we must pass, as we did this 
morning, over that mountain with its three points, which you see yonder. 
Come, let us be moving.” This mountain was that of the Three Breasts, 
so called from the form of its three peaks. They then descended the 
steep bank of the Black River, on the northern side; and arrived, after 
an hour’s walk on the banks of a large river, which stopped their further 
progress. This large portion of the island, covered as it is with forests, 
is even now so little known that many of its rivers and mountains have 
not yet received a name. The stream, on the banks of which Paul and 
Virginia were now standing, rolls foaming over a bed of rocks. The 
noise of the water frightened Virginia, and she was afraid to wade 
through the current; Paul therefore took her up in his arms, and went 
thus loaded over the slippery rocks, which formed the bed of the river, 
careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters. “Do not be afraid,” 
cried he, to Virginia; “I feel very strong with you. If that planter at 
the Black River had refused you the pardon of his slave, I would have 
fought with him.” “What!” answered Virginia, “with that great 
wicked man ? To what have I exposed you ! Gracious heaven! how 
difficult it is to do good ! and yet it is so easy to do wrong.” 

When Taul had crossed the river, he wished to continue the journey 
carrying his sister; and he flattered himself that he could ascend in that 
way the mountain of the Three Breasts, which was still at the distance 
of half a league ; but his strength soon failed, and he was obliged to 
set down his burden, and to rest himself by her side. Virginia then 
said to him, “My dear brother, ‘he sun is going down ; you have still 


i8 


PAUL A XL) VIRGIN! A. 


some strength left, but mine has quite failed ; do leave me here, and re- 
turn home alone to ease the fears of our mothers.” “Oh no,” said 
Paul “I will not leave you if night overtakes us in the wood. I will 
light a fire and bringdown another palm-tree; you shall eat the cab- 
bage, and I will form a covering of the leaves to shelter you.” In the 
meantime, Virginia being a little rested, she gathered from the trunk of 
an old tree, which overhung the bank of the river, some long leaves of 
the plant called hart’s tongue, which grew near its root. Of these 
leaves she made a sort of buskin, with which she covered her feet, that 
were bleeding from the sharpness of the stoney paths; for in her eager 
desire to do good, she had forgotten to put on her shoes. Feeling her 
feet cooled by the freshness of the leaves, she broke off a branch of 
bamboo, and continued her walk, leaning with one hand on the staff, 
and with the other on Paul. 

They walked on in this manner slowly through the woods ; but from 
the height of the trees, and the thickness of their foliage, they soon lost 
sight of the mountain of the Three Breasts, by which they directed their 
course, and also of the sun, which was now setting. At length they 
wandered, without perceiving it, from the beaten path in which they 
had hitherto walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth of trees, un- 
derwood and rocks, whence there appeared to be no outlet. Paul made 
Virginia sit down, while he ran backwards and forwards, half frantic, 
in search of a path which might lead them out of this thick wood ; but 
he fatigued himself to no purpose. He then climbed to the top of a 
lofty tree, whence he hoped at least to perceive the mountain of the 
Three Breasts; but he could discern nothing around him but the tops of 
trees, some of w 7 hich were guilded with the last beams of the setting 
sun. Already the shadows of the mountains were spreading over the 
forests in the valleys. The wind lulled, as is usually the case at sunset. 
The most profound silence reigned in those awful solitudes, which was 
only interrupted by the cry of the deer, who came to their lairs in that 
unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope that some hunter would hear his 
voice, called out as loud as he was able, — “Come, come to the help of 
Virginia.” But the echoes of the forest alone answered his call, and 
repeated again and again, “Virginia — Virginia.” 

Paul at length descended from the tree, overcome with fatigue and 
vexation. He looked around in order to make some arrangement for 
passing the night in that desert; but he could find neither fountain, nor 
palm-tree, nor even a branch of dry wood fit for kindling a fire. He 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


19 


was then impressed by experience, with the sense of his own weakness, 
and began to weep. Virginia said to him, — “Do not weep, my dear 
brother, or I shall be overwhelmed with grief. I am the cause of all 
your sorrow, and of all that our mothers are suffering at this moment. 

I find that we ought to do nothing, not even good, without consulting 
our parents. Oh, I have been very imprudent !” — and she began to 
shed tears. “Let us pray to God, my dear brother,” she again said, “and 
he will hear us.” They had scarcely finished their prayer, when they 
heard the barking of a dog. “It must be the dog of some hunter,” said 
Paul, “who came here at night to lie in wait for the deer.” Soon after, 
the dog began barking again with increased violence. “Surely,” said 
Virginia, “it is Fidele, our own dog; yes, now I know his bark. Are 
we then so near home? — at the foot of our own mountain?” A mo- 
ment after Fidele was at their feet, barking, howling, moaning, and de- 
vouring them with caresses. Before they could recover from their 
surprise, they saw Domingo running towards them. At the sight of the 
good old negro, who wept for joy, they began to weep too, but had not * 
the power to utter a syllable. When Domingo had recovered himself a 
little, “Oh, my dear children,” said he, “how miserable have you made 
your mothers ! how astonished they were when they returned from 
mass, on not finding you at home. Mary, who was at work a little dis- 
tance, could not tell us where you were gone. I ran backwards and 
forwards in the plantation, not knowing where to look for you. At 
last I took some of your old clothes, and showing them to Fidele, the 
poor animal, as if he understood me, immediately began to scent your 
path ; and conducted me, wagging his tail all the while, to the Black 
River. I there saw a planter, who told me you had brought back a 
Maroon negro woman, his slave, and that he had pardoned her at your 
request. But what a pardon ! he showed her to me with her feet 
chained to a block of wood, and an iron collar with three hooks 
fa-tened round her neck ! After that, Fidele, still on the scent, led me 
up the steep bank of the Black River, where he again stopped, and 
barked with all his might. This was on the brink of a spring, near 
which was a fallen palm-tree, and a fire still smoking. At last he led 
me to this very spot. We are now at the foot of the mountain of the 
Three Breasts, and still four good leagues from home. Come eat, and 
recover your strength.” Domingo then presented them with a cake, 
some fruit, and a large gourd full of beverage composed of wine, water, 
lemon-juice, sugar and nutmeg, which their mothers had prepared to 


20 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


invigorate and refresh them. Virginia sighed at the recollection of the 
poor slave, and at the uneasiness they had given their mothers. She 
repeated several times, “Oh, how difficult it is to do good !” While 
she and Paul were taking refreshment, it being already night, Domingo 
kindled a fire ; and having found among the rocks a particular kind of 
twisted wood, called bois de ronde, which burns when quite green, and 
throws out a great blaze, he made a torch of it, which he lighted. But 
when they prepared to continue their journey, a new difficulty occurred ; 
Paul and Virginia could no longer walk, their feet being violently swol- 
len and inflamed. Domingo knew not what to do ; whether to leave 
them and go in search of help, or remain and pass the night with them 
on that spot. “There was a time,” said he, “when I could carry you 
both together in my arms ! But now you are grown big, and I am 
grown old.” While he was in this perplexity, a troop of Maroon 
negroes appeared at a short distance from them. The chief of the 
band, approaching Paul and Virginia, said to them, — “Good little white 
•people, do not be afraid. We saw you pass this morning, with a negro 
woman of the Black River. You went to ask pardon for her of her 
wicked master ; and we, in return for this, will carry you home upon 
our shoulders.” He then made a sign, and four of the strongest 
negroes immediately formed a sort of litter with the branches of trees 
and lianas, and having seated Paul and Virginia on it, carried them 
upon their shoulders. Domingo marched in front with a lighted torch, 
and they proceeded amidst the rejoicings of the whole troop, who over- 
whelmed them with their benedictions. Virginia, affected by this scene, 
said to Paul with emotion, — “Oh, my dear brother ! God never leaves 
a good action unrewarded.” 

Jt was midnight when they arrived at the foot of their mountain, on 
the ridges of which several fires were lighted. As soon as they began 
to ascend, they heard voices exclaiming — “ Is it you, my children ? ” 
They answered immediately, and the negroes also, — “ Yes, yes it is.” 
A moment after they could distinguish their mothers and Mary com- 
ing towards them with lighted sticks in their hands. “Unhappy chil- 
dren,” cried Madame de la Tour, “where have you been? What, 
agonies you have made us suffer! ” — “ We have been,” said Virginia, 
“to the Black River, where we went to ask pardon for a poor Maroon 
slave, to whom I gave our breakfast this morning, because she seemed 
dying of hunger ; and these Maroon negroes have brought us home.” 
Madame de la Tour embraced her daughter, without being able to 


PAUL A AD VIRGINIA. 


21 


speak ; and Virginia, who felt her face wet with her mother’s tears, 
exclaimed, “ Now I am repaid for all the hardships I have suffered." 
Margaret, in a transport of delight, pressed Paul in her arms, exclaim- 
ing, “And you also, my dear child, you have done a good action.” 
When they reached the cottages with their children, they entertained all 
the negroes with a plentiful repast, after which the latter returned to 
the woods, praying Heaven to shower down every description of bless- 
ing on those good white people. 

Every day was to these families a day of happiness and tranquility. 
Neither ambition or envy disturbed their repose. They did not seek 
to obtain a useless reputation out of doors, which may be procured by 
artifice and lost by calumny; but were contented to be the sole wit- 
nesses and judges of their own actions. In this island, where, as is the 
case in most colonies, scandal forms the principal topic of conversation, 
their virtues, and even their names, were unknown. The passer by on 
the road to the Shaddock Grove, indeed, would sometimes ask the inhabi- 
tants of the plain, who lived in the cottages up there ? and was always 
told, even by those who did not know them, “ They are good people.” 
The modest violet thus, concealed in thorny places, sheds all unseen its 
delightful fragrance around. 

Slander, which, under and appearance of justice, naturally inclines 
the heart to falsehood or to hatred, was entirely banished from their 
conversation ; for it is impossible not to hate men if we believe them to 
be wicked, or to live with the wicked without concealing their hatred 
under a false pretense of good feeling. Slander thus puts us ill at ease 
with others and with ourselves. In this little circle, therefore, the conduct 
of individuals was not discussed, but the best manner of doing good to all ; 
and although they had but little in their power, their increasing good- 
will and kindness of heart made them constantly ready to do what they 
could for others. Solitude, far from having blunted these benevolent 
feelings, had rendered their dispositions even more kindly. Although 
the petty scandals of the day furnished no subject of conversation to 
them, yet the contemplation of nature filled their minds with enthu- 
siastic delight. They adored the bounty of that Providence, which, by 
their instrumentality, had spread abundance and beauty amid these 
barren rocks, and had enabled them to enjoy those pure and simple 
pleasures, which are ever grateful and ever new. 

Paul, at twelve years of age was stronger and more intelligent than 
most European youths are at fifteen ; and the plantations, which Do- 


22 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


mingo merely cultivated, were embellished by him. lie would go with 
the old negro into the neighboring woods, where he would root up the 
young plants of lemon, orange, and tamarind trees, the round heads of 
which are so fresh and green, together with the date-palm trees, which 
produce fruit filled with a sweet cream, possessing the fine perfume of 
the orange flower. These trees, which had already attained to a con- 
siderable size, he planted round their little enclosure. He had also 
sown the seed of many trees which the second year bear flowers or fruit; 
such as the agathis, encircled with long clusters of white flowers which 
hang from it like the crystal pendants of a chandelier ; the Persian lilac, 
which lifts high in air its gray flax-colored branches ; the pap-paw tree, 
the branchless trunk of which forms a column studded with green mel- 
ons, surmounted by a capital of broad leaves similar to those of the fig- 
tree. 

The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, terminalia, mango, alligator 
pear, the guava, the bread-fruit tree, and the narrow-leaved rose-apple, 
were also planted by him with profusion ; and the greater number of 
these trees already afforded their young cultivator both shade and fruit. 
His industrious hands diffused the riches of nature over even the most 
barren parts of the plantation. Several species of aloes, the Indian fig, 
adorned with yellow flowers spotted with red, and the thorny torch 
thistle, grew upon the dark summits of the rocks, and seemed to aim at 
reaching the long lianas, which, laden with blue or scarlet flowers, hung 
scattered over the steepest parts of the mountain. 

I love to trace the ingenuity he had exercised in the arrangement of 
these trees. He had so disposed them that the whole could be seen at 
a single glance. In the middle of the hollow he had planted shrubs of 
the lowest growth ; behind grew the more lofty sorts ; then trees of the 
ordinary height; and beyond and above all, the venerable and lofty 
groves which border the circumference. Thus this extensive enclosure 
appeared, from its centre, like a verdant amphitheatre decorated with 
fruits and flowers, containing a variety of vegetables, some strips of 
meadow land, and fields of rice and corn. But, in arranging these vege- 
table productions to his own taste he wandered not too far from the 
designs of Nature. Guided by her suggestions he had thrown upon the 
elevated spots such seeds as the winds would scatter about, and near 
the borders of the springs those which float upon the water. Every 
plant thus grew in its proper soil, and every spot seemed decorated 
by Nature’s own hand. The streams which fell from the summits of 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


23 


the rocks formed in some parts of the valley sparkling cascades, and in 
others were spread into broad mirrors, in which were reflected, set in ver- 
dure, the flowering trees, the overhanging rocks, and the azure heavens. 

Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the ground, these planta- 
tions were, for the most part, easy of access. We had, indeed, all 
given him our advice and assistance, in order to accomplish this end. 
1 1 e had conducted one path entirely round the valley, and various branches 
from it led from the circumference to the centre. He had drawn some 
advantage from the most rugged spots, and had blended, in harmonious 
union, level walks with the inequalities of the soil, and trees which 
grow wild with the cultivated varieties. With that immense quantity 
of large pebbles which now block up these paths and which are 
scattered over most of the ground of this island, he formed pyra- 
midal heaps here and there, at the base of which he laid mould, 
and planted rosebushes, and Barbadoes flower- fence, and other shrubs 
which love to climb the rocks. In a short time the dark and shapeless 
heaps of stones he had constructed were covered with verdure, or with 
the glowing tints of the most beautiful flowers. Hollow recesses on the 
borders of the streams shaded by the overhanging boughs of aged trees, 
formed rural grottoes, impervious to the rays of the sun, in which you 
might enjoy a refreshing coolness during the mid-day heats. One path 
led to a clump of forest trees, in the centre of which, sheltered from the 
wind, you found a fruit-tree, laden with produce. Here was a corn- 
field ; there, an orchard; from one avenue you had a view of the cot- 
tages ; from another, of the inaccessible summit of the mountain. Be- 
neath one tufted bower of gum-trees, interwoven with lianas, no object 
whatever could be perceived: while the point of the adjoining rock, 
jutting out from the mountain, commanded a view of the whole en- 
closure, and of the distant ocean, where, occasionally, we could discern 
the distant sail, arriving from Europe, or bound thither. .On this rock 
the two families frequently met in the evening, and enjoyed in silence 
the freshness of the flowers, the gentle murmurs of the fountain, and the 
last blended harmonies of light and shade. 

Nothing could be more charming than the names which were be- 
stowed upon some of the delightful retreats of this labyrinth. The 
rock of which I have been speaking, whence they could discern my 
approach at a considerable distance, was called the Discovery of Friend- 
ship. Paul and Virginia had amused themselves by planting a bamboo 
on that spot; and whenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a little 


24 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


■white handkerchief, by way of signal at my approach, as they had seen 
a flag hoisted on the neighboring mountain on the sight of a vessel at 
sea. The idea struck me of engraving an inscription on the. stalk of 
this reed; for I never, in the course of my travels, experienced anything 
like the the pleasure in seeing a statue or other monument of ancient 
art, as in reading a well written inscription. It seems to me as if a 
human voice issued from the stone, and, making itself heard after the 
lapse of ages, addressed man in the midst of a desert, to tell him that 
he is not alone, and that other men, on that very spot, had felt, and 
thought, and suffered like himself. If the inscription belongs to an 
ancient nation, which no longer exists, it leads the soul through infinite 
space, and strengthens the consciousness of its immortality, by demon- 
strating that a thought has survived the ruins of an empire. 

I inscribed then, on the little staff of Paul and Virginia’s flag, the 
following lines of Horace : — 

Fratres Ilelense, lucida sidera, 

Ventorumque regat pater, 

Obstrictis, aliis, prseter Iapiga. 

“May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, and the Father of 
the winds, guide you, and may you feel only the breath of the zephyr.” 

There was a gum-tree, under the shade of which Paul was accustomed 
to sit, to contemplate the sea when agitated by storms. On the bark of 
this tree, I engraved the following lines from Virgil : — 

Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes ! 

“Happy art thou, my son, in knowing all the pastoral divinities !” 

And over the door of Madame de la Tour’s cottage, where the 
families so frequently met, I placed this line : — 

At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. 

“ Here dwells a calm conscience, and a life that knows not deceit.” 

But Virginia did not approve of my Latin : she said, that what I had 
placed at the foot of her flag-staff was too long and too learned. “I 
should have liked better,” added she, “to have seen inscribed, ever 
agitated, yet constant.” “Such a motto,” I answered, “would 
have been still more applicable to virtue.” My reflection made her 
blush. 

The delicacy of sentiment of these happy families was manifested in 
everything around them. They gave the tenderest names to objects in 
appearance the most indifferent. A border of orange, plantain, and 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


25 


rose-apple trees, planted round a green sward where Virginia and Paul 
sometimes danced, received the name of Concord. An old tree, beneath 
the shade of which Madame de la Tour and Margaret used to recount 
their misfortunes, was called the Burial-place of Tears. They bestowed 
the names of Brittany and Normandy on two little plots of ground, 
where they had sown corn, strawberries, and peas. Domingo and Mary, 
wishing, in imitation of their mistresses, to recall to mind Angola and 
Foullepointe, the places of their birth in Africa, gave those names to the 
little fields where the grass was sown with which they wove their bas- 
kets, and where they had planted a calabash-tree. Thus by cultivating 
the productions of their respective climates, these exiled families cher- 
ished the dear illusions which bind us to our native country, and softened 
their regrets in a foreign land. Alas ! I have seen these trees, these 
fountains, these heaps of stones, which are now so completely over- 
thrown — which now, like the desolated plans of Greece, present nothing 
but masses of ruin and affecting remembrances, all but called into life 
by the many charming appellations thus bestowed upon them ! 

But perhaps the most delightful spot of this enclosure was that called 
Virginia’s resting-place. At the foot of the rock which bore the name 
of the Discovery of Friendship, is a small crevice, whence issues a 
fountain forming near its source a little spot of marshy soil in the middle 
of a field of rich grass. At the time of Paul’s birth I had made Mar- 
garet a present of an Indian cocoa which had been given me, and which 
she planted on the border of this fenny ground, in order that the tree 
might one day serve to mark the epoch of her son’s birth. Madame de 
la Tour planted another cocoa with the same view, at the birth of Vir- 
ginia. These nuts produced two cocoa-trees, which formed the only 
record of the two families; one was called Paul’s tree, the other, Vir- 
ginia’s. Their growth was in the same proportion as that of the two 
young persons, not exactly equal ; but they rose, at the end of twelve 
years, above the roofs of the cottages. Already their tender stalks were 
interwoven, and clusters of young cocoas hung from them over the basin 
of the fountain. With the exception of these two trees, this nook of the 
rock was left as it had been decorated by nature. On its embrowned 
and moist sides broad plants of maiden-hair glistened with their green 
and dark stars ; and tufts of wave-leaved hart’s tongue suspended like 
long ribbons of purple green, floated on the wind. Near this grew a 
chain of the Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of which resemble the 
red gilliflower; and the long- podded capsicum, the seed-vessels of which 


26 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


are of the color of blood, and more resplendent than coral. Near them, 
the herb balm, with its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet basil, which 
has the odor of the clove, exhaled the most delicious perfumes. From 
the precipitous side of the mountain hung the graceful lianas, like floating 
draperies, forming magnificent canopies of verdure on the face of the 
rocks. The sea-birds, allured by the stillness of these retreats, resorted 
here to pass the night. At the hour of sunset we could perceive the 
curlew and the stint skimming along the sea-shore, the frigate bird 
poised high in air; and the white bird of the tropic, which abandons, 
with the star of the day, the solitudes of the Indian ocean. Virginia 
took pleasure in resting herself upon the border of this fountain, 
decorated with wild and sublime magnificence. She often went thither 
to wash the linen of the family beneath the shade of the two cocoa-trees, 
and thither she sometimes led her goats to graze. While she was 
making cheeses of their milk, she loved to see them browse on the 
maiden-hair fern which clothed the steep sides of the rock, and hung 
suspended by one of its cornices, as on a pedestal. Paul, observing that 
Virginia was fond of this spot, brought thither, from the neighboring 
forest, a great variety of bird’s nest. The old birds following their 
young, soon established themselves in this new colony. Virginia, at 
stated times, distributed amongst them grains of rice, millet, and maize. 
As soon as she appeared, the whistling blackbird, the amadavid bird, 
whose note is so soft, the cardinal, with its flame-colored plumage, 
forsook their bushes ; the paroquet, green as an emerald, descended from 
the neighboring fanpalms, the partridge ran along the grass; all advanc- 
ed promiscuously toward her, like a brood of chickens: and she and 
Paul found an exhaustless source of amusement in observing their sports, 
their repasts, and their loves. 

Amiable children ! thus passed your earlier days in innocence, and 
in obeying the impulses of kindness. How many times, on this very 
spot, have your mothers, pressing you in their arms, blessed Heaven for 
the consolation your unfolding virtues prepared for their declining 
years, while they at the same time enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing 
you begin life under the happiest auspices ! How many times, beneath 
the shade of those rocks, have I partaken with them of your rural 
repasts, which never cost any animal its life ! Gourds full of milk, 
fresh eggs, cakes of rice served on plantain leaves, with baskets of 
mangoes, oranges, dates, pomegranates, pine-apples, furnished a whole- 
some repast, the most agreeable to the eye, as well as delicious to the 
taste, that can possibly be imagined. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


27 


Like the repast, the conversation was mild, and free from everything 
having a tendency to do harm. Paul often talked of the labors of the 
day and of the morrow. He was continually planning something for 
the accommodation of their little society. Here he discovered that 
the paths were rugged; there, that the seats were uncomfortable ; some- 
times the young* arbors did not afford sufficient shade, and Virginia 
might be better pleased elsewhere. 

During the rainy season the two families met together in the cottage, 
and employed themselves in weaving mats of grass, and baskets of 
bamboo. Rakes, spades, and hatchets, were ranged along the walls in 
the most perfect order ; and near these instruments of agriculture were 
heaped its products, — bags of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of 
plantain. Some degree of luxury usually accompanies abundance ; 
and Virginia was taught by her mother and Margaret to prepare sherbert 
and cordials from the juice of the sugar-cane, the lemon and the citron. 

When night came, they all supped together by the light of a lamp; 
after which Madame de la Tour or Margaret related some story of 
travellers benighted in those woods of Europe that are still infested by 
banditti; or told a dismal tale of some shipwrecked vessel, thrown by 
the tempest upon the rocks of a desert island. To these recitals the 
children listened with eager attention, and earnestly hoped that Heaven 
would one day grant them the joy of performing the rites of hospitality 
toward such unfortunate persons. When the time for repose arrived, 
the two families separated and retired for the night, eager to meet 
again the following morning. Sometimes they were lulled to repose by 
the beating of the rains, which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their 
cottages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, which brought to their 
ear the distant roar of the waves breaking upon the shore. They blessed 
God for their own safety, the feeling of which was brought home 
more forcibly to their minds by the sounds of remote danger. 

Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud some affecting history of 
the Old or New Testament. Her auditors reasoned but little upon 
these sacred volumes, for their theology centered in a feeling of devo- 
tion towards the Supreme Being, like that of nature ; and their morality 
was an active principle, like that of the Gospel. These families had 
no particular days devoted to pleasure, and others to sadness. Every 
day was to them a holiday, and all that surrounded them one holy tem- 
ple, in which they ever adored the Infinite Intelligence, the Almighty 
God, the Friend of human kind. A feeling of confidence in his 


28 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


supreme power filled their minds with con olation for the past, with for- 
titude under present trials, and with hope in the future. Compelled 
by misfortune to return almost to a state of nature, these excellent 
women had thus developed in their own and their children’s bosoms 
the feelings most natural to the human mind, and its best support under 
affliction. 

But, as clouds sometimes arise, and cast a gloom over the best regu- 
lated tempers, so whenever any member of this little society appeared 
to be laboring under dejection, the rest assembled around, and endeav- 
ored to banish her painful thoughts by amusing the mind rather than 
by grave arguments against them. Each performed this kind office in 
their own appropriate manner; Margaret, by her gayety; Madame de la 
Tour, by the gentle consolation of her religion; Virginia, by her tender 
caresses ; Paul, by his frank and engaging cordiality. Even Mary and 
Domingo hastened to offer their succor, and to weep with those that 
wept. Thus do weak plants interweave themselves with each other, 
in order to withstand the fury of the tempest. 

During the fine season, they went every Sunday to the church of the 
Shaddock Grove, the steeple of which you see yonder upon the plain. 
Many wealthy members of the congregation, who came to church in 
palanquins, sought the acquaintance of these united families, and invited 
them to parties of pleasure. But they always repelled these over- 
tures with respectful politeness, as they were persuaded that the rich 
and powerful seek the society of persons in an inferior station only for 
the sake of surrounding themselves with flatterers, and that every flat- 
terer must applaud alike all the actions of his patrons, whether good or 
bad. On the other hand, they avoided, with equal care, too intimate 
an acquaintance with the lower class, who w T ere ordinnrily jealous, cul- 
minating, and gross. They thus acquired, with some, the character of 
being timid, and with others, of pride ; but their reserve was accom- 
panied with so much obliging politeness, above all towards the unfortu- 
nate and the unhappy, that they insensibly acquired the respect of the 
rich and the confidence of the poor. 

After service, some kind of office was often required at their hands 
by their poor neighbors. Sometimes a person troubled in mind sought 
their advice ; sometimes a child begged them to visit its sick mother, in 
one of the adjoining hamlets. They always took with them a few rem- 
edies for the ordinary diseases of the country, which they administered 
in that soothing manner which stamps a value upon the smallest favors. 


Paul and Virginia . 29 

Above all, they met with singular success in administering to the 
disorders of the mind, so intolerable in solicitude, and under the infir- 
mities of weakened frame. Madame de la Tour spoke with such sub- 
lime confidence of the Divinity, that the sick, while listening to her, 
almost believed him present. Virginia often • returned home with her 
eyes full of tears, and her heart overflowing with delight, at having had 
an opportunity of doing good ; for to her generally was confided the 
task of preparing and administering the medicines,— a task which she 
fulfilled with angelic sweetness. After these visits of charity, they 
sometimes extended their walk by the Sloping Mountain, till they 
reached my dwelling, where I used to prepare dinner for them on the 
banks of the little rivulet which glides near my cottage. I procured 
for these occasions a few bottles of old wine, in order to heighten the 
relish of our Oriental repast by the more; genial productions of Europe. 
At other times we met on the sea-shore at the mouth of some little 
river, or rather mere brook. We brought from home the provisions 
furnished us by our gardens', to which we added those supplied us by 
the sea in abundant variety. We caught on these shores the mullet, 
the roach, and the sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, and all 
other kinds of shell-fish. In this way, we often enjoyed the most tran- 
quil pleasures in situations the most teriffic. Sometimes, seated upon a 
rock, under the shade of the velvet sunflower-tree, we saw the enor- 
mous waves of the Indian Ocean break beneath our feet with a tremcn- 
dious noise. Paul, who could swim like a fish, would advance on the 
reefs to meet the coming billows; then, at their near approach, would 
run back to the beach, closely pursued by the foaming breakers, w-hich 
threw themselves, with a roaring noise, far on the sands, But Virginia, 
at this sight, uttered piercing cries, and said that such sports frightened 
her too much. 

Other amusements were not wanting on these festive occasions. Our 
repasts were generally followed by the songs and dances of the two 
young people. Virginia sang the happiness of pastoral life, and the 
misery of those wdio were impelled by avarice to cross the raging ocean, 
rather than cultivate the earth, and enjoy its bounties in peace. Some- 
times she performed a pantomime with Paul, after the manner of the 
negroes. The first language of man is pantomime : it is known to all 
nations, and is so natural and expressive, that the children of the Euro- 
pean inhabitants catch it with facility from the negroes. Virginia, re- 
calling, from among the histories which her mother had read to her, 


30 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


those which had affected her most, represented the principal events in 
them with beautiful simplicity. Sometimes at the sound of Domingo’s 
tantum she appeared upon the green sward, bearing a pitcher upon her 
head, and advanced with a timid step towards the source of a neighbor- 
ing fountain to draw water. Domingo and Mary, personating the shep- 
herds of Midian, forbade her to approach, and repulsed her sternly. 
Upon this Paul flew to her succor, beat away the shepherds, filled Vir- 
gin’s pitcher, and placing it upon her head, bound her brows at the same 
time with ar wreath of the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, 
which served to heighten the delicacy of her complexion. Then join- 
ing in their sports, I took upon myself the part of Raguel, and bestowed 
upon Paul, my daughter Zephora in marriage. 

Another time Virginia would represent the unhappy Ruth, returning 
poor and widowed with her mother-in-law, who, after so prolonged an 
absence, found herself as unknown as in a foreign land. Domingo and 
Mary personated the reapers. The supposed daughter of .Naomi fol- 
lowed tlieir steps, gleaning here and there a few ears of corn. When 
interrogated by Paul, — a part which he performed with the gravity of a 
patriarch, — she answered his questions with a faltering voice. He then, 
touched with compassion, granted an asylum to innocence, and hospi- 
tality to misfortune. He filled her lap with plenty ; and, leading her 
towards us as before the elders of the city, declared his purpose to take 
her in marriage. At this scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling the 
desolate situation in which she had been left by her relations, her wid- 
owhood, and the kind reception she had met with from Margaret, suc- 
ceeded now by the shooting hope of a happy union between their chil- 
dren, could not forbear weeping ; and these mixed recollections of good 
and evil caused us all to unite with her in shedding tears of sorrow and 
of joy. 

These dramas were performed with such an air of reality that you 
might have fancied yourself transported to the plains of Syria or of 
Palestine. We were not unfurnished with decorations, lights, or an or- 
chestra, suitable to the representation. The scene was generally placed 
in an open space in the forest, the diverging paths from which formed 
around us numerous arcades of foliage, under which we were sheltered 
from the heat all the middle of the day; but when the sun descended 
towards the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of the trees, darted 
amongst the shadows of the forest in long lines of light, producing the 
most magnificent effect. Sometimes its broad disk appeared at the end 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


3 * 


of an avenue, lighting it up with insufferable brightness. The foliage 
of the trees, illuminated from beneath by its saffron beams, glowed wiih 
the lustre of the topaz and the emerald. Their brown and mossy trunks 
appeared transformed into columns of antique bronze ; and the birds, 
which had retired in silence to their leafy shades to pass the night, sur- 
prised to see the radiance of the second morning, hailed the star of day 
all together with innumerable carols. 

Night often overtook us during these rural entertainments ; but the 
purity of the air and the warmth of the climate, admitted of our sleep- 
ing in the woods, without incurring any danger by exposure to the 
weather, and no less secure from the molestation of robbers. On our 
return the following day to our respective habitations, we found them in 
exactly the same state in which they had been left. In this island, then 
unsophisticated by the pursuits of commerce, such were the honesty 
and primitive manners of the population, that the doors of many houses 
were without a key, and even a lock itself was an object of curiosity to 
not a few of the native inhabitants. 

There were, however, some days in the years celebrated by Paul and 
Virginia in a more peculiar manner ; these were the birth-days of their 
mothers. Virginia never failed the day before to prepare some wheaten 
cakes, which she distributed among a few poor white families, born in 
the island, who had never eaten European bread. These unfortunate 
people, uncared for by the blacks, were reduced to live on tapioca in 
the woods; and as they had neither the insensibility which is the result 
of slavery, nor the fortitude which springs from a liberal education, to 
enable them to support their poverty, their situation was deplorable. 
These cakes were all that Virginia had it in her power to give away, 
but she conferred the gift in so delicate a manner as to add to its value. 
In the first place, Paul was commissioned to take the cakes himself to 
these families, and get their promise to come and spend the next day at 
Madame de la Tour’s. Accordingly, mothers of families, with two or 
three thin, yellow, miserable looking daughters, so timid that they dared 
not look up, made their appearance. Virginia soon put them at their 
ease ; she waited upon them with refreshments, the excellence of which 
she endeavored to heighten by relating some particular circumstance 
which in her own estimation, vastly improved them. One beverage had 
been prepared by Margaret ; another, by her mother : her brother him- 
self had climbed some lofty tree for the very fruit she was presenting. 
She would then get Paul to dance with them, nor would she leave them 


32 


Paul and Virginia. 


till she saw that they were happy. She wished them to partake of the 
joy of her own family. “ It is only,” she said, “ by promoting the hap- 
piness of others, that we can secure our own.” When they left,' she 
generally presented them with some little article they seemed to fancy, 
enforcing their acceptance of it by some delicate pretext, that she might 
not appear to know they were in want. If she remarked that their 
clothes were much tattered, she obtained her mother’s permission to 
give them some of her own, and then sent Paul to leave them secretly 
at their cottage doors. She thus followed the divine precept, — conceal- 
ing the benefactor, and revealing only the benefit. 

Your Europeans, whose minds are imbued from infancy with pre- 
judices at variance with happiness, cannot imagine all the instruction 
and pleasure to be derived from nature. Your souls, confined to a 
small sphere of intelligence, soon reach the limit of its artificial enjoy- 
ments: but nature and the heart are inexhaustible. Paul and Virginia 
had neither clock, nor almanac, nor books of chronology, history or 
philosophy. The periods of their lives were regulated by those of the 
operations of nature, and their familiar conversation had a reference to 
the changes of the seasons. They knew the time of day by the shadows 
of the trees; the seasons, by the times when those trees bore flowers or 
fruit; and the years, by the number of their harvests. These soothing 
images diffused an inexpressible charm over their conversation. “It is 
time to dine,” said Virginia, “the shadows of the plantain-trees are at 
their roots : ” or, “Night approaches, the tamarinds are closing their 
leaves.” “When will you come and see us ? ” inquired some of her 
companions in the neighborhood. ‘.‘At the time of the sugar-canes,” 
answered Virginia. “Your visit will be then still more delightful,” 
resumed her young acquaintances. When she was asked what was her 
own age and that of Paul, — “My brother,” said she, “is as old as the 
great cocoa-tree of the fountain ; and I am as old as the little one : the 
mangoes have bore fruit twelve times, and the orange-trees have 
flowered four-and-twenty times, since I came into the world.” Their 
lives seemed linked to that of the trees, like those of Fauns or Dryads. 
They knew no other historical epochs than those of the lives of their 
mothers, no other chronology than that of their orchards, and no other 
philosophy than that of doing good, and resigning themselves to the 
will of Heaven. 

,What need, indeed, had these young people of riches or learning such 
as ours? Even their necessities and their ignorance increased their 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


33 


happiness. No day passed in which they were not of some service to 
one another, or in which they did not mutually impart some instruction. 
Yes, instruction ; for if errors mingled with it, they were, at least, not of 
a dangerous character. A pure-minded being has none of that descrip- 
tion to fear. Thus grew these children of nature. No care had 
troubled their peace, no intemperance had corrupted their blood, no 
misplaced passion had depraved their hearts. Love, innocence and 
ipiety, possessed their souls; and those intellectual graces were unfolding 
•daily in their features, their attitudes, and their movements. Still in the 
morning of life, they had all its blooming freshness; and surely such in 
the garden of Eden appeared our first parents, when coming from the 
hands of God, they first saw, and approached each other, and conversed 
together, like brother and sister. Virginia was gentle, modest, and con- 
'fiding as Eve; and Paul, like Adam, united the stature of manhood with 
the simplicity of a child. 

Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has a thousand times told me, 
he used to say to her, on his return from labor, — “When I am wearied, 
the sight of you refreshes me. If from the summit of the mountain I 
perceive you below in the valley, you appear to me in the midst of our 
orchard like a blooming rose-bud. If you go towards our mother’s 
house, the partridge, when it runs to meet its young, has a shape less 
beautiful, and a step less light. When I lose sight of you through the 
trees, I have no need to see you in order to find you again. Something 
of you, I know not how, remain* for me in the air through which you 
have passed, on the grass whereon you have been seated. When I come 
fiear you, you delight all my senses. The azure of the sky is less charm- 
jing than the blue of your eyes, and the song of the amadavid bird less 
soft than the sound of your voice. If I only touch you with the tip of 
my finger, my whole frame trembles with pleasure. Do you remember 
the day when we crossed over the great stones of the river of the Three 
Breasts ? I was very tired before we reached the bank ; but as soon as 
I had taken you in my arms, I seemed to have wings like a bird. Tell 
me by what charm you have thus enchanted me ? Is it by your wis- 
dom ?— Oar mothers have more than either of us? Is it by your 
caresses — They embrace me much oftener than you. I think it must be 
by your goodness. I shall never forget how you walked bare-footed to 
the Black River, to ask pardon for the poor runaway slave. Here, my 
beloved, take this flowering branch of a lemon-tree, which I have 
gathered in the forest; you will let it remain at night near your bed. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


34 

Eat this honey-comb, too, which I have taken for you from the top of 
a rock. But first lean on my bosom, and I shall be refreshed.” 

Virginia would answer him, “Oh, my dear brother, the rays of the 
sun in the morning on the tops of the rocks give me less joy than the 
sight of you. I love my mother, — I love yours; but when they call you 
their son, I love them a thousand times more. When they caress you, 

I feel it more sensibly than when I am caressed myself. You ask me 
what makes you love me. Why, all creatures that are brought up 
together love one another. Look at our birds ; reared up in the same 
nests, they love each other as we do; they are always together like us. 
Hark! how they call and answ'er from one tree to another. So when 
the echoes bring to my ears the air which you play on your flute on the 
top of the mountain, I repeat the words at the bottom of the valley. 
You are dear to me more especially since the day when you wanted to 
fight the master of the slave for me. Since that time how often have I 
said to myself, ‘Ah, my brother has a good heart; but for him, I should 
have died of terror.’ I pray to God every day for my mother and for 
yours, and for our poor servants; but when I pronounce your name, my 
devotion seems to increase; I ask so earnestly of God that no harm may 
befall you ! Why do you go so far, and climb so high, to seek fruits 
and flowers for me? Have we not enough in our garden already? 
How much you are fatigued, — you look so warm!” — and with her little 
white hankerchief she would wipe the damps from his face, and then 
imprint a tender kiss on his forehead. 

For sopie time past, however, Virginia had felt her heart agitated by 
new sensations. Her beautiful blue eyes lost their lustre, her cheek its 
freshness, and her frame was overpowered with a universal languor. 
Serenity no longer sat upon her brow, nor smiles played upon her lips. 
She would become all at once gay without cause for joy, and melancholy 
without any subject for grief. She fled her innocent amusements, her 
gentle toils, and even the society of her beloved family; wandering 
about the most unfrequented parts of the plantations, and seeking every- 
where the rest which she could nowhere find. Sometimes, at the sight 
of Paul, she advanced sportively to meet him ; but, when about to accost 
him, was overcome by a sudden coufusion; her pale cheeks were covered 
■with blushes, and her eyes no longer dared to meet those of her brother. 
Paul said to her, “The rocks are covered with verdure, our birds begin 
to sing when you approach, everything around you is gay, and you only 
are unhappy.” He then endeavored to soothe her by his embraces, but 


PAUL A AD VIRGINIA. 


35 

she turned away her head, and fled, trembling towards her mother. The 
caresses of her brother excited too much emotion in her agitated heart, 
and she sought, in the arms of her mother, refuge from herself. Paul, 
unused to the secret windings of the female heart, vexed himself in vain 
in endeavoring to comprehend the meaning of these new and strange 
caprices. Misfortunes seldom come alone, and a serious calamity now 
impended over these families. 

One of those summers, which sometimes desolate the countries situated 
between the tropics, now began to spread its ravages over this island. 
It was near the end of December, when the sun, in Capricorn, darts 
over the Mauritius, during the space of three weeks, its vertical fires. 
The south-east wind, which prevails throughout almost the whole year, 
no longer blew. Vast columns of dust arose from the highways, and 
hung suspended in the air; the ground was everywhere broken into 
clefts; the grass was burnt up; hot exhalations issued from the sides of 
the mountains, and their rivulets, for the most part, became dry. No 
refreshing cloud ever arose from the sea: fiery vapors, only, during the 
day, ascended from the plains, and appeared, at sunset, like the reflection 
of a vast conflagration. Night brought no coolness to the heated atmos- 
phere; and the red moon rising in the misty horizon, appeared of super- 
natural magnitude. The drooping cattle, on the sides of the hills, 
stretching out their necks towards heaven, and panting for breath, made 
the valleys re-echo with their melancholy lowings : even the Caffre by 
whom they were led threw himself upon the earth, in search of some 
cooling moisture: but his hopes were vain; the scorching sun had 
penetrated the whole soil, and the stifling atmosphere everywhere 
resounded with the buzzing noise of insects, seeking to allay their thirst 
with the blood of men and of animals. 

During this sultry season, Virginia’s restlessness and disquietude 
were much increased. One night, in particular, being unable to sleep 
she arose from her bed, sat down, and returned to rest again ; but could 
find in no attitude either slumber or repose. At length she bent her 
way, by the light of the moon towards her fountain, and gazed at its 
spring, which, notwithstanding the drought, still trinkled, in silver 
threads down the brown sides of the rock. She flung herself into the 
basin : its coolness reanimated her spirits, and a thousand soothing 
remembrances came to her mind. She recollected that in her infancy 
her mother and Margaret had amused themselves by bathing her with 
Paul in this very spot ; that he afterwards, reserving this bath for her sole 


3^ 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


use, had hollowed out its bed, covered the bottom with sand, and sown 
aromatic herbs around its borders. She saw in the water, upon her 
naked arms and bosom, the reflection of the two cocoa trees which were 
planted at her own and her brother’s birth, and which interwove above, 
her head their green branches and young fruit. She thought of Paul’s 
friendship, sweeter than the odor of the blossoms, purer than the waters 
of the fountain, stronger than the intertwining palm-tree, and she 
sighed. Reflecting on the hour of the night, and the profound solitude, 
her imagination became disturbed. Suddenly she flew, affrighted, from 
those dangerous shades, and those waters which seemed to her hotter 
than the tropical sunbeam, and ran to her mother for refuge. More 
than once, wishing to reveal her sufferings, she pressed her mother’s 
hand within her own ; more than once she was ready to pronounce the 
name of Paul; but her oppressed heart left her lips no power of 
utterance, and leaning her head on her mother’s bosom, she bathed it 
with her tears. 

Madame de la Tour, though she easily discerned the source of her 
daughter’s uneasiness, did not think proper to speak to her on the 
subject. “My dear child,” said she, “offer up your supplications to 
God, who disposes at his will of health and of life. He subjects you to 
trial now', in order to recompense you hereafter. Remember that we 
are only placed upon earth for the exercise of virtue.” 

The excessive heat in the meantime raised vast masses of vapor from 
the ocean, which hung over the island like an immense parasol, and 
gathered round the summits of the mountains. Long flakes of fire 
issued from time to time from these mist-embosomed peaks. The most 
awful thunder soon after re-echoed through the woods, the plains and 
the valleys; the rains fell from the skies in cataracts; foaming torrents 
rushed down the sides of this mountain ; the bottom of the valley 
became a sea, and the elevated platform on which the cottages were 
built, a little island. The afccumulated waters, having no other outlet, 
rushed with violence through the narrow gorge which leads into the 
valley, tossing and roaring, and bearing along with them a mingled 
wreck of soil, trees, and rocks. 

The trembling families meantime addressed their prayers to God all 
together in the cottage of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which 
cracked fearfully from the force of the winds. So incessant and vivid 
were the lightnings, that although the doors and window-shutters were 
securely fastened, every object without could be distinctly seen through 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


37 


the ioints in the wood-work ! Paul, followed by Domingo, went with 
intrepidity from one cottage to another, nothwithstanding the fury of 
the tempest; here supporting a partition with a buttress, there driving in 
a stake ; and only returning to the family to calm their fears, by the 
expression of a hope that the storm was passing away. Accordingly, 
in the evening the rain ceased, the trade-winds of the south-east 
pursued their ordinary course, the tempestuous clouds were driven away 
to the northward, and the setting sun appeared in the horizon. 

Virginia’s first wish was to visit the spot called her Resting Place. 
Paul approached her with a timid air, and offered her the assistance of 
his arm ; she accepted it with a smile, and they left the cottage 
together. The air was clear and fresh ; white vapors arose from the 
ridges of the mountain, which was furrowed here and there by the 
courses of torrents, marked in foam, and now beginning to dry up on 
all sides. As for the garden, it was completely torn to pieces by deep 
water-courses, the roots of most of the fruit trees were laid bare, and 
vast heaps of sand covered the borders of the meadows, and had 
choked up Virginia’s bath. The two cocoa tr6es, however, were still 
erect, and still retained their freshness; but they were no longer 
surrounded by turf, or arbors, or birds, expept a few amadavid birds, 
which, upon the points of the neighboring rocks, were lamenting, in 
plaintive notes, the loss of their young. 

At the sight of this general desolation, Virginia exclaimed to Paul, 
“You brought birds hither ; and the hurricane has killed them. You 
planted this garden, and it is now destroyed. Everything then upon 
earth perishes, and it is only Heaven that is not subject to change.” 
“Why,” answered Paul, “cannot I give you something that belongs to 
Heaven? but I have nothing of my own even upon the earth.” 
Virginia with a blush replied, “You have the picture of St. Paul.” As 
soon as she had uttered the words, he flew in quest of it to his 
mother’s cottage. This picture was a miniature of Paul the Hermit, 
which Margaret, who viewed it with feelings of great devotion, had 
worn at her neck while a girl, and which, after she became a mother, 
she had placed round her child’s. It had even happened, that being, 
while pregnant, abandoned by all the world, and constantly occupied in 
cnntemplating the image of this benevolent recluse, her offspring had 
contracted some resemblance to this reverend object. She therefore 
bestowed on him the name of Paul, giving him for his patron a saint 
who had passed his life far from mankind by whom he had been first 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


3S 

deceived and then forsaken. Virginia, on receiving this little present 
from the hands of Paul, said to him, with emotion, “My dear brother, I 
will never part with this while I live ; nor will I ever forget that you 
have given me the only thing you have in this world.” At this tone of 
friendship, — this unhoped for return of familiarity and tenderness, Paul 
attempted to embrace her ; but light as a bird, she escaped him, and 
tied away, leaving him astonished, and unable to account for her 
conduct so extraordinary. 

Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la Tour, “Why do we not 
unite our children by marriage ? They have a strong attachment for 
each other, and though my son hardly understands the real nature of 
his feelings, yet great care and watchfulness will be necessary. Under 
such circmstances, it will be as well not to leave them too much together." 
Madame de la Tour replied, “They are too young, and too poor. What 
grief would it occasion us to see Virginia bring into the world unfortu- 
nate children, whom she would not perhaps have sufficient strength to 
rear! Your negro, Domingo, is almost too old to labor; Mary is 
infirm. As for myself, my dear friend, at the end of fifteen years, I 
find my strength greatly decreased; the feebleness of age advances 
rapidly in hot climates, and, above all, under the pressure of 
misfortune. Paul is our only hope; let us wait till he comes to maturity,, 
and his increased strength enables him to support us by his labor; at 
present you well know that we have only sufficient to supply the wants 
of the day; but were we to send Paul for a short time to the Indies,, 
he might acquire, by commerce, the means of purchasing some slaves ?' 
and at his return we could unite him to Virginia; for I am persuaded 
no one on earth would render her so happy as your son. We will 
consult our neighbor on this subject. 

They accordingly asked my advice, which was in accordance with 
Madame de la Tour’s opinion. “The Indian seas,” I observed to them, 
“are calm, and, in choosing a favorable time of the year, the voyage out 
is seldom longer than six weeks ; and the same time may be allowed for 
the return home. We will furnish Paul with a little venture from my 
neighborhood, where he is much beloved. If we were only to supply 
him with some raw cotton, of which we make no use for want of 
mills to work it, some ebony, which is here so common that it serves us 
for firing, and some rosin, which is found in our woods, he would be 
able to sell those articles, though useless here, to good advantage in the 
Indies.” 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


39 


I took upon myself to obtain permission from Monsieur de la Bour- 
donnais to undertake this voyage ; and I determined previously to 
mention the affair to Paul. But what was my surprise, when this 
young man said to me, with a degree of good sense above his age, 
“And why do you wish me to leave my family for this precarious 
pursuit of fortune? Is there any commerce in the world more 
advantageous than the culture of the ground, which yields sometimes 
fifty or a hundred-fold ? If we wish to engage in commerce, can we 
not do so by carrying our superfluities to the town without my wandering 
to the Indies ? Our mothers tell me, that Domingo is old and feeble ; 
but I am young, and gather strength every day. If any accident should 
happen during my absence, above all to Virginia, who already suffers — 
Oh, no, no, ! — I cannot resolve to leave them.” 

So decided an answer threw me into great perplexity, for Madame de 
la Tour had not concealed from me the cause of Virginia’s illness and 
want of spirits, and her desire of separating these young people till they 
were a few years older. I took care, - however, not to drop anything 
which could lead Paul to suspect the existence of these motives. 

About this period a ship from France brought Madame de la Tour a 
letter from her aunt. The fear of death, without which hearts as 
insensible as hers would never feel, had alarmed her into compassion. 
When she wrote she was recovering from a dangerous illness, which 
had, however, left her incurably languid and weak. She desired her 
niece to return to France ; or, if her health forbade her to undertake so 
long a voyage, she begged her to send Virginia, on whom she promised 
to bestow a good education, to procure for her a splendid marriage and 
to leave her heiress of her whole fortune. She concluded by enjoining 
strict obedience to her will, in gratitude, she said, for her great 
kindness. 

At the perusal of this letter general consternation spread itself through 
the whole assembled party, Domingo and Mary began to weep. Paul, 
motionless with surprise, appeared almost ready to burst with indigna- 
tion; while Virginia, fixing her eyes anxiously upon her mother, had 
not power to utter a single word. “And can you now leave us?” cried 
Margaret to Madame de la Tour. “No, my dear friend, no, my be- 
loved children,” replied Madame de la Tour; “ I will never leave you. 

I have lived with you, and with you I will die. I have known no hap- 
piness but your affection. If my health be deranged my past misfor- 
tunes are the cause. My heart has been deeply wounded by the cruelty 


4 o 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


of my relations, and by the loss of my beloved husband. But I have 
since found more consolation and more real happiness with you in these 
humble huts, than all the wealth of my family could now lead me to 
expect in my own country.” 

At this soothing language every eye overflowed with tears of delight. 
Paul, pressing Madame de la Tour in his arms, exclaimed, — “Neither 
will I leave you ! I will not go to the Indies. We will all labor for 
you, dear mamma; and you shall never feel any want with us.” But 
of the whole society, the person who displayed the least transport, and 
who probably felt the most, was Virginia : and during the remainder of 
the day, the gentle gayety which flowed from her heart, and proved 
that her peace of mind was restored, completed the general satisfaction. 

At sunrise the next day, just as they had concluded offering up, as 
usual, their morning prayer before breakfast, Domingo came to inform 
them that a gentlemen on horseback, followed by two slaves, was com- 
ing towards the plantation. It was Monsieur de la Bourdon nais. He 
entered the cottage, where he found the family at breakfast. Virginia 
had prepared, according to the custom of the country, coffee, and rice 
boiled in water. To these she had added hot yams, and fresh plantains. 
The leaves of the plantain-tree supplied the want of table linen; and 
calabash shells, split in two, served for cups. The governor exhibited, 
at first, some astonishment at the homliness of the dwelling; then, ad- 
dressing himself to Madame de la Tour, he observed, that although 
public affairs drew his attention too much from the concerns of individ- 
uals, she had many claims on his good offices. “You have an aunt at 
Paris, madame,” he added, “a woman of quality, and immensely rich, 
who expects that you will hasten to see her, and who means to bestow 
upon you the her whole fortune.” Madame de la Tour replied, that 
the state of her health would not permit her to undertake so long a voy- 
age. “At least,” resumed Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, “ you cannot 
without injustice, deprive this amiable young lady, your daughter, of 
so ngble an inheritance. I will not conceal from you, that your aunt 
has made use of her influence to secure your daughter being sent to her ; 
and that I have received official letters, in which I am ordered to exert 
my authority, if necessary, to that effect. But as I only wish to employ 
my power for the purpose of rendering the inhabitants of this country 
happy, I expect from your good sense the voluntary sacrifice of a few 
years, upon which your daughter’s establishment in the world, and the 
welfare of your whole life depends. Wherefore do we come to these 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


4 * 

islands ? Is it not to acquire a fortune ? And will it not be more 
agreeable to return and find it in your own country ?” 

He then took a large bag of piastres from one of his slaves, and placed 
it upon the table. “ This sum,” he continued, “ is alloted by your aunt 
to defray the outlay necessary for the equipment of the young lady for 
her voyage.” Gently reproaching Madame de la Tour for not having 
had recourse to him in her difficulties, he extolled at the same time her 
noble fortitude. Upon this Paul said to the governor, — “ My mother 
did apply to you, sir, and you received her ill.” “ Have you another 
child, madame?” said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to Madame de la 
Tour. “No, sir,” she replied; “this is the son of my friend; but he 
and Virginia are equally dear to us, and we mutually, consider them 
both as our own children.” “ Young man,” said the governor to Paul, 
“ when you have acquired a little more experience of the world, you 
will know that it is the misfortune of people in place to be deceived, 
and bestow, in consequence, upon intriguing vice, that which they would 
wish to give to modest merit.” 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request of Madame de la Tour, 
placed himself next to her at table, and breakfasted after the manner of 
the Creoles, upon coffee, mixed with rice boiled in water. He was de- 
lighted with the order and cleanliness which prevailed in the little cot- 
tage, the harmony of the two interesting families, and the zeal of their old 
servants. “ Here,” he exclaimed, “ I discern only wooden furniture ; 
but I find serene countenances and hearts of gold.” Paul, enchanted 
with the affability of the governor, said to him, — “ I wish to be your- 
friend : for you are a good man.” Monsieur de la Bourdonnais re- 
ceived with pleasure this insular compliment, and, taking Paul by the 
hand, assured him he might rely upon his friendship. 

After breakfast, he took Madame de la Tour aside and informed her 
that an opportunity would soon offer itself of sending her daughter to 
France, in a ship which was going to sail in a short time ; that he would 
put her under the charge of a lady, one of the passengers, who was a 
relation of his own; and that she must not think of renouncing an im- 
mense fortune, on account of the pain of being separated from her 
daughter for a brief interval. “Your aunt,” he added, “cannot live more 
than two years; of this I am assured by her friends. Think of it seri- 
ously. Fortune does not visit us every day. Consult your friends. I 
am sure that every person of good sense will be of my opinion.” She 
answered, “that as she desired no other happiness henceforth in the 


42 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


world than in promoting that of her daughter, she hoped to be allowed 
to leave her departure for France entirely to her own inclination.” 

Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an opportunity of separating 
Paul and Virginia for a short time, and provide by this means, for their 
mutual felicity at a future period. She took her daughter aside, and 
said to her, — “My dear child, our servants are now old. Paul is still 
very young, Margaret is advanced in years, and I am already infirm. 
If I should die what would become of you, without fortune, in the mid-4 
of these deserts? You would then be left alone, without any person 
who could afford you much assistance, and would be obliged to labor 
without ceasing, as a hired servant, in order to support your wretched 
existence. This idea overcomes me with sorrow.” Virginia answered, 
“God has appointed us to labor, and to bless him every day. Up to 
this time he has never forsaken us, and he never will forsake us in time 
to come. His providence watches most especially over the unfortunate. 
You have told me this very often, my dear mother! I cannot resolve to 
leave you.” Madame de la Tour replied with much emotion, — “I have 
no other aim than to render you happy, and to marry you one day to 
Paul, who is not really your brother. Remember then that his fortune 
depends upon you.” 

A young girl who is in love believes that every one else is ignorant 
of her passion; she throws over her eyes the veil with which she covers 
the feelings of her heart; but when it is once lifted by a friendly hand, 
the hidden sorrows of her attachment escape as through a newly-opened 
barrier, and the sweet outpourings of unrestrained confidence succeed to 
her former mystery and reserve. Virginia, deeply affected by this new 
proof of her mother’s tenderness, related to her the cruel struggles she 
had undergone, of which heaven alone had been witness; she saw, she 
said, the hand of Providence in the assistance of an affectionate mother, 
who approved of her attachment; and would guide her by her counsels; 
and as she was now strengthened by such support, every consideration 
led her to remain with her mother, without anxiety for the present, and 
without apprehension for the future. 

Madame de la Tour, preceiving that this confidential conversation 
had produced an effect altogether different from that which she expected, 
said, — “My dear child, I do not wish to constrain you ; think over it at 
leisure, but conceal your affection from Paul. It is better not to let a 
man know that the heart of his mislress is gained.” 

Virginia and her mother were sitting together by themselves the same 


PAUL A AD VIRGINIA. 


43 


evening, when a tall man, dressed in a blue cossock, entered their cot- 
tage. He was a missionary priest and the confessor of Madame de la 
Tour and her daughter, who had now been sent them by the governor. 
“My children,” he exclaimed as he entered, “God be praised ! you are 
now rich. You can now attend to the kind suggestions of your benevo- 
lent hearts, and do good to the poor. I know what Monsieur de la 
Bourdonnais has said to you, and what you have said in reply. Your 
health, dear madam, obliges you to remain here; but you, young lady, 
are without excuse. We must obey the direction of Providence : and 
we must always obey our aged relations, even when they are unjust. A 
sacrifice is required of you ; but it is the will of God. Our Lord devo- 
ted himself for you; and you in imitation of his example, must give up 
something for the welfare of your family. Your voyage to France will 
end happily. You will surely consent to go, my dear young lady.” 

Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, trembling, “if it is the com- 
mand of God, I will not presume to oppose it. Let the will of God be 
done ! ” As she uttured these words, she wept. 

The priest went away, in order to inform the governor of the success 
of his mission. In the meantime Madame de la Tour sent Domingo to 
request me to come to her, that she might consult me respecting Vir- 
ginia’s departure. I was not at all of opinion that she ought to go. I 
consider it as a fixed principle of happiness, that we ought to prefer the 
advantages of nature to those of fortune, and never go in search of that 
at a distance, which we may find at home, — in our own bosoms. But 
what could be expected from my advice, in opposition to the illusions 
of a splendid fortune ?— or from my simple reasoning; when in competi- 
tion with the prejudices of the world, and an authority held sacred by 
Madame de la Tour ? This lady indeed had only consulted me out of 
politeness : she had ceased to deliberate since she had heard the decision 
of her confessor. Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the advan- 
tages she expected for her son from the possession of Virginia’s fortune, 
had hitherto opposed her departure, made no further objections. As for 
Paul, in ignorance of what had been determined, but alarmed at the 
secret conversations which Virginia had been holding with her mother* 
he abandoned himself to melancholy. “They are plotting something 
against me,” cried he, “for they conceal everything from me.” 

A report having in the meantime been spread in the island that for- 
tune had visited these rocks, merchants of every description were seen 
Climbing their steep ascent. Now, for the first time^ were seen displayed 


44 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


in these humble huts the richest stuffs of India; the fine dimity of Gon- 
delore ; the handkerchiefs of Pellicate and Masulipatan ; the plain, 
striped, and embroidered muslins of Dacca, so beautifully transparent; 
the delicately white cottons of Surat, and linens of all colors. They 
also brought with them the gorgeous silks of China, satin damasks, some 
white, and others grass-green and bright red ; pink taffetas, with a 
profusion of satin and gauze of Tonquin, both plain and decorated with 
flowers; soft pekins, downy as cloth; with white and yellow nankeens, 
and the calicoes of Madagascar. 

Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to purchase whatever she 
liked; she only examined the goods, and inquired the price, to take care 
that the dealers did not cheat her. Virginia made choice of everything 
she thought would be useful or agreeable to her mother, or to Margaret 
and her son. “This,” she said, “will be wanted for furnishing the cot- 
tage, and that will be very useful to Mary and Domingo.’’ In short, 
the bag of piastres was almost emptied before she even began to con- 
sider her own wants; and she was obliged to receive back for her own 
use a share of the presents which she had distributed among the family 
circle. 

Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight of these gifts of fortune, which 
he felt were a presage of Virginia’s departure, came a few days after to 
my dwelling. With an air of deep despondency he said to me. “My 
sister is going away; she is already making preparations for her voyage. 
I conjure you to come and exert your influence over her mother and 
mine, in order to detain her here.” I could not refuse the young man’s 
solicitations, although well convinced that my representations would be 
unavailing. 

Virginia had ever appeared to me charming when clad in the coarse 
cloth of Bengal, with a red handkerchief tied around her head ; you 
may therefore imagine how much her beauty was increased, when she 
was attired in the graceful and elegant costume worn by the ladies of 
this country ! She had on a white muslin dress lined with pink taffeta. 
Her somewhat tall and slender figure was shown to advantage in her 
new attire, and the simple arrangement of her hair accorded admirably 
with the form of her head. Her fine blue eyes were filled with an ex- 
pression of melancholy; and the struggles of passion, with which her 
heart was agitated, imparted a flush to her cheek, and to her voice a 
tone of deep emotion. The contrast between her pensive look and gay 
habiliments rendered her more interesting than ever, nor was it possible 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


45 


to see or hear her unmoved. Paul became more and more melancholy ; 
and at length Margaret, distressed at the situation of her son, took him 
aside, and said to him, — “Why, my child, will you cherish vain hopes, 
which will only render your disappointment more bitter? It is time for 
me to make known the secret of your life and of mine. Mademoiselle 
de la Tour belongs, by her mother’s side, to a rich and noble family, 
while you are but the son of a poor, peasant girl ; and what is worse, 
you are illegitimate.” 

Paul, who had never heard this last expression before, inquired with 
eagerness its meaning. His mother replied, “I was not married to your 
father. When I was a girl, seduced by love, I was guilty of a weakness 
of which you are the offspring. The consequence of my fault is, that 
you are deprived of the protection of a father’s family, and by my flight 
from home, you have also lost that of your mother’s. Unfortunate 
child ! you have no relation in the world but me ! ” — and she shed a 
flood of tears. Paul, pressing her in his arms, exclaimed, “Oh, my dear 
mother! since I have no relation in the world but you, I will love you 
all the more. But what a secret have you just disclosed to me! I now 
see the reason why Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged herself so 
much from me for the last two months, and why she has determined to 
go to France. Ah ! I perceive too well that she despises me ! ” 

The hour of supper being arrived, we gathered round the table; but 
the different sensations with which we were agitated left us little in- 
clination to eat, and the meal, if such it may be called, passed in silence. 
Virginia was the first to rise; she went out, and seated herself on the 
very spot where we now are. Paul hastened after her, and sat down by 
her side. Both of them, for some time, kept a profound silence. It 
was one of those delicious nights which are so common between the 
tropics, and to the beauty of which no pencil can do justice. The moon 
appeared in the midst of the firmament, surrounded by a curtain of 
clouds, which was gradually unfolded by her beams. Her light insen- 
sibly spread itself over the mountains of the island, and their distant 
peaks glistened with a silvery green. The winds were perfectly still. 
We heard among the woods, at the bottom of the valleys, and on the 
summits of the rocks, the piping cries and the soft notes of the birds, 
wantoning in their nests, and rejoicing in the brightness of the night and 
the serenity of the atmosphere. The hum of insects was heard in the 
grass. The stars sparkled in the heavens, and their lucid orbs were 
reflected, in trembling sparkles, from the tranquil bosom of the ocean. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


46 

Virginia’s eye wandered distractedly over its vast and gloomy horizon, 
distinguishable from the shore of the island only by the red fires in the 
fishing boats. She perceived at the entrance of the harbor a light and 
a shadow ; these were the watchlight and the hull of the vessel in which 
she was to embark for Europe, and which, all ready for sea, lay at 
anchor, waiting for a breeze. Affected at this sight, she turned away 
her head, in order to hide her tears from Paul. 

Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I, were seated at a little distance, 
beneath the plantain trees; and, owing to the stillness of the night, we 
distincly heard their conversation, which I have not forgotten. 

Paul said to her, — “You are going away from us, they tell me, in 
tl ree days. You do not fear, then, to encounter the danger of the sea, 
at sight of which you are so much terrified? ” “I must perform my 
duty,” answered Virginia, “ by obeying my parent.” “ You leave us,” 
resumed Paul, “for a distant retation, whom you have never seen.” 
“Alas!” cried Virginia, “I would have remained here my whole life, 
but my mother would not have it so. My confessor, too, told me it 
was the will of God that I should go, and that life was a scene of trials, ! 
and Oh ! this is indeed a severe one.” 

“What!” exclaimed Paul, “you could find so many reasons for go- 
ing, and not one for remaining here ! Ah ! there is one reason for 
your departure that you have not mentioned. Riches have great attrac- 
tions. You will soon find in the new world to which you are going, 
another, to whom you will give the name of brother, which you bestow 
on me no more. You will choose that brother from amongst persons 
who are worthy of you by their birth, and by a fortune which I have 
not to offer. But where can you go to be happier? On what shore will 
you land and find it dearer to you than the spot which gave you 
birth ?-^and where will you form around you a society more delightful 
than this, by which you are so much beloved ? How will you bear to 
live without your mother’s caresses, to which you are so much accus- 
tomed? What will become of her, already advanced in years, when 
she no longer sees you at her side at table, in the house, in the walks, 
where she used to lean upon you? What will become of my mother, 
who loves you with the same affection ? What shall I say to comfort 
them when I see them weeping for your absence ? Cruel Virginia'! I 
say nothing to you of myself ; but what will become of me, when in the 
morning I shall no more see you; when the evening will come, and not 
reunite us? — when X shall gaze on these two palm trees, planted at our 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


47 


birth, and so long the witnesses of our mutual friendship? Ah ! since 
your lot is changed, — since you seek in a far country other possessions 
than the fruits of my labor, let me go with you in the vessel in which 
you are about to embark. I will sustain your spirits in the midst of 
those tempests which terrify you so much even on shore. I will lay my 
head upon your bosom; I will warm your heart upon my own; and in 
France, where you are going in search of fortune and of grandeur, I will 
wait upon you as your slave. Happy only in your happiness, you will 
find me, in those palaces where I shall see you receiving the homage and 
adoration of all, rich and noble enough to make you the greatest of all 
sacrifices, by dying at your feet.” 

The violence of his emotions stopped his utterance, and we then heard 
Virginia, who, in a voice broken by sobs, uttered these words; — “It is 
for you that I go, — for you whom I see tired to death every day by the 
labor of sustaining two helpless families. If I have accepted this oppor- 
tunity of becoming rich, it is only to return a thousand fold the good 
which you have done us. Can any fortune be equal to your friendship ? 
Why do you talk about your birth ? Ah ! if it were possible for me 
still to have a brother, should I make choice of any other than you ? 
Oh, Paul, Paul! you are far dearer to me than a brother! How much 
has it cost me to repulse you from me! Help me to tear myself from 
what I value more than existence, till Heaven shall bless our union. 
But I will stay or go — I will live or die, — dispose of me as you will.. 
Unhappy that I am ! I could have repelled your caresses; but I can- 
not support your affliction.” 

At these words Paul seized her in his arms, and, holding her pressed 
close to his bosom, in a piercing tone, “I will go with her, — nothing 
shall ever part us.” We all ran towards him ; and Madame de la Tour 
said to him, “ My son, if you go, what will become of us! ” 

He, trembling, repeated after her the words,— “ My son 1 — my son ! 
You my mother!” cried he; “you who would separate the brother 
from the sister! We have both been nourished at your bosom; w s. 
have both been reared upon your knees ; we have learnt of you to love 
one another; we have said so a thousand times; and now you would 
separate her from me ! — you would send her to Europe, that inhospita- 
ble country which refused you an asylum, and to relations by whom you 
yourself were abandoned. You will tell me that I have no right over 
her, and that she is not my sister. She is everything to me ; — my riches, 
my birth, my family, — all that I have ! I know no other. We have 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


48 

had but one roof, — one cradle, — and we will have but one grave ! If 
she goes I will follow her. The governor will prevent me ! Will he 
prevent me from flinging myself into the sea ? — will he prevent me from 
following her by swimming ? The sea cannot be more fatal to me than 
the land. Since I cannot live with her, at least I will die before her 
eyes, far from you. Inhuman mother ! — woman without compassion ! — 
may the ocean, to which you trust her, restore her to you no more ! 
May the waves, rolling back our bodies amid the shingles of this beach, 
give you, in loss of your two children, an eternal subject of remorse ! ” 

At these words, I seized him in my arms, for despair had deprived 
him of reason. His eyes sparkled with fire, the perspiration fell in great 
drops from his face; his knees trembled, and I felt his heart beat vio- 
lently against his burning bosom. 

Virginia, alarmed, said to him, — “Oh, my dear Paul, I call to wit- 
ness the pleasures of our early age, your griefs and my own, and every- 
thing that can forever bind two unfortunate beings to each other, that if I 
remain at home, I will live but for you ; that if I go, I will one day 
return to be yours. I call you all to witness ; — you who have reared me 
from my infancy, who dispose of my life, and who see my tears. I 
swear by that Heaven which hears me, by the sea which I am going to 
pass, by the air I breathe, and which I never sullied by a falsehood.” 

As the sun softens and precipitates an icy rock from the summit of 
one of the Appenines, so the impetuous passions of the young man were 
subdued by the voice of her he loved. He bent his head, and a torrent 
of tears fell from his eyes. His mother, mingling her tears with his, 
held him in her arms, but was unable to speak. Madame de la Tour, 
half distracted, said to me, “ I can bear this no longer. My heart is 
quite broken. This unfortunate voyage shall not take place. Do take 
my son home with you. No one of us has had any rest the whole 
week.” 

I said to Paul, “ My dear friend, your sister shall remain here. To- 
morrow we will talk to the governor about it; leave your family to take 
some rest, and come and pass the night with me. It is late; it is mid- 
night; the southern cross is just above the horizon.” 

He suffered himself to be led away in silence ; and after a night of 
great agitation, he arose at break of day, and returned home. 

But why should I continue any longer to you the recital of this his- 
tory ? There is but one aspect of human existence which we can ever 
contemplate with pleasure. Like the globe upon which we revolve, the 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


49 


fleeting course of life is but a day ; and if one part of that day be visits d 
by light, the other is thrown into darkness. 

“ My father,” I answered, “finish, I conjure you, the history which 
you have begun in a manner so interesting. If the images of happiness 
are the most pleasing, those of misfortune are the more instructive. 
Tell me what became of the unhappy young man.” 

The first object beheld by Paul on his way home was the negro 
woman Mary, who, mounted on a rock, was earnestly looking toward 
the sea. As soon as he perceived her, he called to her from a distance, 
— “Where is Virginia?” Mary turned her head towards her young 
master, and began to weep. Paul, distracted, retracing his steps, ran to 
the harbor. He was informed, that Virginia had embarked at break of 
day, and that the vessel had immediately set sail, and was now out of 
sight. He instantly returned to the plantation, which he crossed 
without uttering a word. 

Quite perpendicular as appears the walls of rocks behind us, those 
green platforms which separate their summits are so many stages, by 
means of which you may reach, through some difficult paths, that cone 
of sloping and inaccessible rocks, which is called The Thumb. At the 
foot of that cone is an extended slope of ground, covered with lofty 
trees, and so steep and elevated that it looks like a forest in the air, 
surrounded by tremendous precipices. The clouds, which * are 
constantly attracted round the summit of The Thumb, supply innum- 
erable rivulets, which fall to so great a depth in the valley situated on 
the other side of the mountain, that from this elevated point the sound 
of their cataracts cannot be heard. From that spot you can discern a 
considerable part of the island, diversified by precipices and mountain 
peaks, and amongst others, Peter-Booth, and the Three Breasts, with 
their valleys full of woods. You also command an extensive view of 
the ocean, and can even perceive the Isle of Bourbon, forty leagues to 
the westward. From the summit of that stupendous pile of rocks Paul 
caught sight of the vessel which was bearing away Virginia, and which 
now, ten leagues out at sea, appeared like a black spot in the midst of 
the ocean. He remained a great part of the day with his eyes 
fixed upon this object : when it had disappeared, he still fancied he 
beheld it; and when, at length, the traces which clung to his 
imagination were lost in the midst of the horizon, he seated himself on 
that wild point, forever beaten by the winds, which never cease to 
agitate the tops of the cabbage and gum-trees, and the hoarse and 


5 ° 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


moaning imrrmers of which, similar to the distant sound of organs, 
inspire a profound melancholy. On this spot I found him, his head 
reclining on the rock, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. I had 
followed him from the earliest dawn, and, after much importunity, I 
prevailed on him to descend from the heights, and return to his family. 
I went home with him, where the first impulse of his mind, on seeing 
Madame de la Tour, was to reproach her bitterly for having deceived 
him. She told us that a favorable wind having sprung up at three 
o’clock in the morning, and the vessel being ready to sail, the governor, 
attended by some of his staff and the missionary, had come with a 
palanquin to fetch her daughter, and that, notwithstanding Virginia’s 
objections, her own tears and entreaties, and the lamentations of 
Margaret, everybody exclaiming all the time that it was for the general 
welfare, they had carried her away almost dying. “At least,” cried 
Paul, “if I had bid her farewell, I should now be more calm. I would 
have said to her, — ‘Virginia, if, during the time we have lived together, 
one word may have escaped me which has offended you, before you 
leave me forever, tell me that you forgive me.’ I would have said to 
her, — ‘Since I am destined to see you no more, farewell, my dear 
Virginia, farewell ! Live far from me contented and happy !’ ” When 
he saw that his mother and Madame de la Tour were weeping, — “You 
must now,” said he, seek some other hand to wipe away your tears ; ” 
and then, rushing out of the house, and groaning aloud, he wandered 
up and down the plantation. He hovered in particluar about those spots 
which had been most endearing to Virginia. He said to the goats, and 
their little ones, which followed him, bleating, — “What do you want of 
me ? You will see with me no more her who used to feed you with her 
own hand.” He went to the bower called Virginia’s Resting-place, 
and, as the birds flew around him, exclaimed, “Poor birds ! you will fly 
no more to meet her who cherished you !” — and observing Fidele 
running backwards and forwards in search of her, he heaved a deep 
sigh, and cried, — “Ah! you will never find her again.” At length he 
went and seated himself upon a rock where he had conversed with her 
the preceding evening ; and at the sight of the ocean upon which he 
had seen the vessel disappear which had borne her away, his heart 
overflowed with anguish, and he*wept bitterly. 

We continually watched his movements, apprehensive of some fatal 
consequence from the violent agitation of his mind. His mother and 
Madame de la Tuur conjured him, in the most tender manner, not to 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


5i 

increase their affliction by his despair. At length the latter soothed his 
mind by lavishing upon him epithets calculated to awaken his hopes, — 
calling him her son, her dear son, her son-in-law, whom she destined 
for her daughter. She persuaded him to return home, and to take some 
food. He seated himself next to the place which used to be occupied 
by the companion of his childhood ; and, as if she had still been 
present, he spoke to her, and made as though he would offer her what- 
ever he knew was the most agreeable to her taste ; then, starting from 
this dream of fancy, he began to weep. For some days he employed 
himself in gathering everything which belonged to Virginia, the last 
nosegays she had worn, the cocoa-shell from which she used to drink ; 
and after kissing a thousand times these relics of his beloved, to him 
the most precious treasures which the world contained, he hid them in 
his bosom. Amber does not shed so sweet a perfume as the veriest 
trifles touched by those we love. At length, perceiving that the indul- 
gence of his grief increased that of his mother and Madame de la Tour 
and that the wants of the family demanded continual labor, he began, 
with the assistance of Domingo, to repair the damage done to the 
garden. 

But, soon after, this young man, hitherto indifferent as a Creole to 
everything that was passing in the world, begged of me to teach him to 
read and write, in order that we might correspond with Virginia. lie 
afterwards wished to obtain a knowledge of geography, that he might 
form some idea of the country where she would disembark ; and of 
history, that he might know something of the manners of the society in 
which she would be placed. The powerful sentiment of love, which 
directed his present studies, had already instructed him in agriculture, 
and in the art of laying out grounds with advantage and beauty. It 
must be admitted, that to the fond dreams of this restless and ardent 
passion, mankind are indebted for most of the arts and sciences, while 
its disappointments have given birth to philosophy, which teaches us to 
bear up under misfortune. Love, thus, the general link of all beings, 
becomes the great spring of society, by inciting us to knowledge as well 
as to pleasure. 

Paul found little satisfaction in the study of geography, which, 
instead of describing the natural history of each country, gave only a 
view of its political divisions and boundaries. History, and especially 
modern history, interested him little more. He there saw only generd 
and periodical evils, the causes of which he could not discover ; wars 


5 2 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


without either motive or reason ; uninteresting intrigues ; with nations 
destitute of principle, and princes void of humanity. To this branch of 
reading he preferred romances, which, being chiefly occupied by the 
feelings and concerns of men, sometimes represented situations similar 
to his own. Thus, no book gave him so much pleasure as Telamachus, 
from the pictures it draws of pastoral life, and of the passions which 
are most natural to the human breast. He read aloud to his mother 
and Madame de la Tour those parts which affected him most sensibly; 
but sometimes, touched by the most tender remembrances, his emotion 
would choke his utterance, and his eyes be filled with tears. He 
fancied he had found in Virginia the dignity and wisdom of Antiope, 
united to the misfortunes and the tenderness of Eucharis. With very 
different sensations he perused our fashionable novels, filled with 
licentious morals and maxims, and when he was informed that these 
works drew a tolerably faithful picture of European society, he 
trembled, and not without some appearance of reason, lest Virginia 
should become corrupted by it, and forget him. 

More than a year and a half, indeed, passed away before Madame 
de la Tour received any tidings of her aunt or her daughter. During 
that period she only accidentally heard that Virginia had safely arrived 
in France. At length, however, a vessel which stopped here in its way 
to the Indies brought a packet to Madame de la Tour, and a letter 
written by Virginia’s own hand. Although this amiable and consider- 
ate girl had written in a guarded manner that she might not wound her 
mother’s feelings, it appeared evident enough that she was unhappy. 
The letter painted so naturally her situation and her character, that. I 
have retained it almost word for word. 

“My dear and beloved mother, 

“I have already sent you several letters, written by my own hand, but 
having received no answer, I am afraid they have not reached you. I 
have better hopes for this, from the means I have now gained of sending 
you tidings of myself, and of hearing from you. 

“I have shed many tears since our separation, I who never used to 
weep, but for the misfortunes of others ! My aunt was much 
astonished, when, having, upon my arrival, inquired what accomplish- 
ments I possessed, I told her that I could neither read nor write. She 
asked me what then I had learnt, since I came into the world ; and 
when I answered that I had been taught to take care of the household 
affairs, and to obey your will, she told me {hat I had received th$ 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


S3 


education of a servant. The next day she placed me as a boarder in a 
great abbey near Paris, where I have masters of all kinds, who teach 
me among other things, history, geography, grammar, mathematics, 
and riding on horseback. But I have so little capacity for all these 
sciences, that I fear I shall make but little progress with my masters. I 
feel that I am a very poor creature, with very little ability to learn what 
they teach. My aunt’s kindness, however, does not decrease. She 
gives me new dresses every season ; and she has placed two waiting 
women with me, who are dressed like fine ladies. She has made me 
take the title of countess ; but has obliged me to renounce the name 
of La Tour, which is as dear to me as it is to you, from all you have 
told me of the sufferings my father endured in order to marry you. She 
has given me in place of your name that of your family, which is also 
dear to me, because it was your name when a girl. Seeing myself in so 
splendid a situation, I implored her to let me send you something to 
assist you. But how shall I repeat her answer! Yet you have desired 
me always to tell you the truth. She told me then that a little would be 
of no use to you, and that a great deal would only encumber you in the 
simple life you led. As you know I could not write, I endeavored upon 
my arrival, to send you tidings of myself by another hand ; but, finding 
no person here in whom I could place confidence, I applied night and 
day to learn to read and write, and Heaven, who saw my motive for 
learning, no doubt assisted my endeavors, for I succeeded in both in a 
short time. I entrusted my first letters to some of the ladies here, who, 
I have reason to think, carried them to my aunt. This time I have 
recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I send you her direction, by 
means of which I shall receive your answer. My aunt has forbid me 
holding any correspondence whatever, with any one, lest, she says, it 
should occasion an obstacle to the great views she has for my advantage. 
No person is allowed to see me at the gate but herself, and an old 
nobleman, one of her friends, whd, she says, is much pleased with me. 
X am sure I am not at all so with him, nor should I, even if it were 
possible for me to be pleased with any one at present. 

“ I live in all the splendor of affluence, and have not a sou at my dis- 
posal. They say I might make an improper use of money. Even my 
clothes belong to my femmes de chambre, who quarrel about them before 
I have left them off. In the midst of riches I am poorer than when I 
Jived with you; for I have nothing to give away. When I found that 
the great accomplishments they taught me would not procure me the 


54 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


power of doing the smallest good, I had recourse to my needle, of which 
happily you had taught me the use. I send several pairs of stockings 
of my own making for you and my mamma Margaret, a cap for Do- 
mingo, and one of my red handkerchiefs for Mary. I also send with 
this packet some kernels, and seeds of various kinds of fruits which I 
gathered in the abbey park during my hours of recreation. I have also 
sent a few seeds of violets, daisies, buttercups, poppies and scabious, 
which I picked up in the fields. There are much more beautiful flowers 
in the meadows of this country than in ours, but nobody cares for them. 
I am sure that you and my mamma Margaret will be belter pleased 
with this bag of seeds, than you were with the bag of piastres, which 
was the cause of our separation and of my tears. It will give me great 
delight if you should one day see apple-trees growing by the side of our 
plantations, and elms blending their foliage with that of our cocoa trees. 
You will fancy yourself in Normandy, which you love so much. 

“You desired me to relate to you my joys and my griefs. I have no 
joys far from you. As for my griefs, I endeavor to soothe them by re- 
flecting that I am in the situation in which it was the will of God that 
you should place me. But my greatest affliction is, that no one here 
speaks to me of you, and that I cannot speak of you to any one. My 
femmes de chambre, or rather those of my aunt, for they belong more 
to her than to me, told me the other day, when I wished to turn the 
conversation upon the objects most dear tome: ‘Remember, made- 
moiselle, that you are a French woman, and must forget the land of 
savages.’ Ah ! sooner will I forget myself, than forget the spot on 
which I was born and where you dwell ! It is this country which is to 
me a land of savages, for I live alone, having no one to whom I can 
impart those feelings of tenderness for you which I shall bear with me 
to the grave. I am, 

“My dearest and beloved mother, 

“Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 

“Virginie de La Tour.” 

“I recommend to your goodness Mary and Domingo, who took 
so much care of my infancy; caress Fidele for me, who found me in 
the wood.” 

Paul was astonished that Virginia had not said one word of him, 

she, who had not forgotten even the house-dog. But he was not aware 
that, however long a woman’s letter maybe, she never fails to leave her 
.dearest sentiments for the end. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


55 


In a postscript Virginia particularly recommended to Paul’s attention 
two kinds of seed, — those of the violet and the scabious. She gave him 
some instructions upon the natural characters of these flowers, and the 
spots most proper for their cultivation. “ The violet,” she. said, “ pro- 
duces a little flower of a dark purple color, which delights to conceal 
itself beneath the bushes; but it is soon discovered by its wide-spread- 
ing perfume.” She desired that these seeds might be sown by the bor- 
der of the fountain, at the foot of her cocoa-tree. “ The scabious,” she 
added, “ produces a beautiful flower of a pale blue, and a black ground 
spotted with white. You might fancy it was in mourning; and for this 
reason it is also called the widow’s flower. It grows best in bleak spots, 
beaten by the winds.” She begged him to sow this upon the rock 
where she had spoken to him at night for the last time, and that, in 
remembrance of her, he would henceforth give it the name of the Rock 
of Adieus. 

She had put these seeds into a little purse, the tissue of which was 
exceedingly simple; but which appeared above all price to Paul, when 
he saw on it a P and a V entwined together, and knew, that the beauti- 
ful hair which formed the cipher was the hair of Virginia. 

The whole family listened with tears to the reading of the letter of 
this amiable and virtuous girl. Her mother answered it in the name of 
the little society, desiring her to remain or return as she thought proper; 
and assuring her, that happiness had left their dwelling since her de- 
parture, and that, for herself, she was inconsolable. 

Paul also sent her a very long letter, in which he assured her that he 
would arrange the garden in a manner agreeable to her taste, and might 
mingle together in it the plants of Europe with those of Africa, as she 
had blended their initials together in her work. He sent her some fruit 
from the cocoa-trees of the fountain, now arrived at maturity; telling 
her, that he would not add any of the other productions of the island, 
that the desire of seeing them again might hasten her return. He con- 
jured her to Comply as soon as possible with the ardent wishes of her 
family, and above all, with his own, since he could never hereafter taste 
happiness away from her. 

Paul sowed with a careful hand the European seeds, particularly the 
violet and scabious, the flowers of which seemed to bear some analogy 
to the character and present situation of Virginia, by whom they had 
been so especially recommended ; but either they were dried up in the 
voyage, or the climate in this part of the world is unfavorable to their 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


56 

growth, for a very small number of them even came up, and not one 
arrived at full perfection. 

In the meantime, envy, which ever comes to embittered human hap- 
piness, particularly in the French colonies, spread some reports in the 
island which gave Paul much uneasiness. The passengers, in the ves- 
sel which brought Virginia’s letter, asserted that she was on the point of 
being married, and named the nobleman of the court to whom she was 
engaged. Some even went so far as to declare that the union had 
already taken place, and that they themselves had witnessed the cere- 
mony. Paul at first despised the report, brought by a merchant vessel, 
as he knew that they often spread erroneous intelligence in their pas- 
sage ; but some of the inhabitants of the island, with malignant pity, 
affecting to bewail the event, he was soon led to attach some degree of 
belief to this cruel intelligence. Besides, in some of the novels he had 
lately read, he had seen that perfidy was treated as a subject of pleas- 
antry; and knowing that these books contained pretty faithful repre- 
sentations of European manners, he feared that the heart of Virginia was 
corrupted, and had forgotten its former engagements. Thus his new 
acquirements had already only served to render him more miserable ; 
and his apprehensions were much increased by the circumstance, that 
though several ships touched here from Europe, within the six months 
immediately following the arrival of her letter, not one of them brought 
any tidings of Virginia. 

This unfortunate young man, with a heart torn by the most cruel agi- 
tation, often came to visit me, in the hope of confirming or banishing his 
uneasiness, by my experience of the world. 

I live, as I have already told you, a league and a half from this point, 
upon the banks of a little river which glides along the Sloping Moun- 
tain ; there I lead a solitary life, without wife, children, or slaves. 

After having enjoyed, and lost the rare felicity of living with a con- 
genial mind, the state of life which appears the least wretched is doubt- 
less that of solitude. Every man who has much cause of complaint 
against his fellow-creatures seeks to be alone. It is also remarkable 
that all those nations which have been brought to wretchedness by their 
opinions, their manners, or their forms of government, have produced 
numerous classes of citizens altogether devoted to solitude and celibacy. 
Such were the Egyptians in their decline, and the Greeks of the Lower 
Empire ; and such in our days are the Indians, the Chinese, the modern 
Greeks, the Italians, and the greater part of the eastern and southern 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


57 


nations of Europe. Solitude, by removing men from the miseries which 
follow in the train of social intercourse, brings them in some degree 
back to the unsophisticated enjoyment of nature. In the midst of 
modern society, broken up by innumerable prejudices, the mind is in a 
constant turmoil of agitation. It is incessantly revolving in itself a 
thousand tumultuous and contradictory opinions, by which the members 
of an ambitious and miserable circle seek to raise themselves above each 
other. But in solitude the soul lays aside the morbid illusions which 
troubled her, and resumes the pure consciousness of herself, of nature, 
and of its Author, as the muddy water of a torrent which has ravaged the 
plains, coming to rest, and diffusing itself over some low grounds out of 
its course, deposits there the slime it has taken up, and, resuming its 
wonted transparency, reflects, with its own shores, the verdure of the 
earth and the light of heaven. Thus does solitude recruit the powers 
of the body as well as those of the mind. It is among hermits that are 
found the men who carry human existence to its extreme limits ; such 
are the Bramins of India. In brief, I consider solitude so necessary to 
happiness, even in the world itself, that it appears to me impossible to 
derive lasting pleasure from any pursuit Whatever, or to regulate our 
conduct by any stable principle, if we do not create for ourselves a men- 
tal void, whence our own views rarely emerge, and into which the opin- 
ions of others never enter. I do not mean to say that man ought to live 
absolutely alone ; he is connected by his necessities with all mankind : 
his labors are due to man : and he owes something too to the rest of nature. 
But, as God has given to each of us organs perfectly adapted to the ele- 
ments of the globe on which we live, — feet for the soil, lungs for the air, 
eyes for the light, without the power of changing the use of any of these 
faculties, he has reserved for himself, as the Author of life, that which 
is its chief organ, — the heart. 

I thus passed my days far from mankind, whom I wished to serve, 
and by whom I have been persecuted. After having travelled over 
many countries of Europe, and some part of America and Africa, I at 
length pitched my tent in this thinly-peopled island, allured by its mild 
climate and its solitudes. A cottage which I built in the woods, 
at the foot of a tree, a little field which I cleared with my own hands, 
a river which glides before my door, suffice for my wants and for my 
pleasures. I blend with these enjoyments the perusal of some chosen 
books, which teach me to become better. They make that world, 
which I have abandoned, still contribute something to my happiness. 


58 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


They lay before me pictures of those passions which render its inhabit- 
ants so miserable; and in the comparison I am thus led to make be- 
tween their lot and my own, I feel a kind of negative enjoyment. Like 
a man saved from shipVreck, and thrown upon a rock, I contemplate, 
from my solitude, the storms which rage through the rest of the world; 
and my repose seems more profound from the distant sound of the tem- 
pest. As men have ceased to fall in my way, I no longer.view them 
with aversion; I only pity them. If I sometimes fall in with an unfor- 
tunate being, I try to help him by my counsels, as a passer-by on the 
brink of a torrent extends his hand to save a wretch from drowning. But 
I have hardly ever found but the innocent attentive to my voice. Nature 
calls the majority of men to her in vain. Each of them forms an image 
of her for himself, and invests her with his own passions. He pursues 
during the whole of his life this vain phantom, which leads him astray; 
and he afterwards complains to Heaven of the misfortunes which he 
has thus created for himself. Among the many children of misfortune 
whom I have endeavored to lead back to the enjoyments of nature, I 
have not found one but was intoxicated with his own miseries. They 
have listened to me at first \Vith attention, in the hope that I could teach 
them how to acquire glory or fortune, but when they found that I only 
wished to instruct them how to dispense with these chimeras, their 
attention has been converted into pity, because I did not prize their 
miserable happiness. They blamed my solitary life ; they alleged that 
they alone were useful to men, and they endeavored to draw me into 
their vortex. But if I communicate with all, I lay myself open to none. 
It is often sufficient for me to serve as a lesson to myself. In my present 
tranquility, I pass in review the agitating pursuits of my past life, to 
which I formerly attached so much value, — patronage, fortune, reputa- 
tion, pleasure, and the opinions which are ever at strife over all the 
earth. I compare the men whom I have seen disputing furiously over 
these vanities, and who are no more, to the tiny waves of my rivulet, 
which break in foam against its rocky bed, and disappear, never to 
return. As for me, I suffer myself to float calmly down the stream of 
time to the shoreless ocean of futurity; while, in the contemplation of 
the present harmony of nature, I elevate my soul towards its supreme 
Author, and hope for a more happy lot in another state of existence. 

Although you cannot descry from my hermitage, situated in the midst 
of a forest, that immense variety of objects which this elevated spot 
presents, the grounds are disposed with peculiar beauty, at least to one 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


59 


who, like me, prefers the seclusion of a home scene to great and exten- 
sive prospects. The river which glides before my door passes in a 
straight line across the woods, looking like a long canal shaded by all 
kinds of trees. Among them are the gum tree, the ebony tree, and that 
which is here called bois de pomme, with olive and cinnamon-w’ood 
trees; while in some parts the cabbage-palm trees raise their naked 
stems more than a hundred feet high, their summits crowned with a 
cluster of leaves, and towering above the woods like one forest piled 
upon another. Lianas, of various foliage, intertwining themselves 
among the trees, form, here, arcades of foliage, there, long canopies of 
verdure. Most of these trees shed aromatic odors so powerful, that the 
garments of a traveller, who has passed through the forest, often retain 
for hours the most delicious fragrance. In the season when they pro- 
duce their lavish blossoms, they appear as if half covered with snow. 
Towards the end of summer, various kinds of foreign birds hasten, 
impelled -by some inexplicable instinct, from unkown regions on the 
other side of immense oceans, to feed upon the grain and other vege- 
table productions of the island; and the brilliancy of their plumage 
forms a striking contrast to the more sombre tints of the foliage, 
embrowned by the sun. Among these are various kinds of parroquets, 
and the blue pigeon, called here the pigeon of Holland. Monkeys, the 
domestic inhabitants of our forests, sport upon the dark branches of the 
trees, from which they are easily distinguished by their gray and greenish 
■skin, and their black visages. Some hang, suspended by the tail, and 
swing themselves in air ; others leap from branch to branch, bearing 
their young in their arms. The murderous gun has never affrighted 
these peaceful children of nature. You hear nothing but sounds of joy, 
the warblings and unknown notes of birds from the countries of the 
south, repeated from a distance by the echoes of the forest. The river, 
which pours, in foaming eddies, over a bed of rocks, through the midst 
•of the woods, reflects here and there upon its limpid waters their vene- 
rable masses of verdure and of shade, along with the sports of their 
happy inhabitants. About a thousand paces from thence it forms several 
•cascades, clear as crystal in their fall, but broken at the bottom into 
frothy surges. Innumerable confused sounds issued from these watery 
tumults, which, borne by the winds across the forest, now sink in dis- 
tance, now all at once swell out, booming on the ear like the bells of a 
cathedral. The air, kept ever in motion by the running water, preserves 
upon the banks of the river, amid all the summer heats, a freshness 


60 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

and verdure rarely found in this island, even on the summits of the 
mountains. 

At some distance from this place is a rock, placed far enough from 
the cascade to prevent the far from being deafened with the noise of its 
waters, and sufficiently near for the enjoyment of seeing it, of feeling its 
coolness, and hearing its gentle murmurs. Thither, amidst the heats of 
summer, Madame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia, Paul and myself, 
sometimes repaired, to dine beneath the shadow of this rock. Virginia, 
who always, in her most ordinary actions, was mindful of the good of 
others, never eat of any fruit in the fields without planting the seed or 
kernel in the ground. “From this,” said she, ‘trees will come, which 
will yield their fruit to some traveller, or at least to some bird.” One 
day, having eaten of the papaw fruit from the foot of this rock, she plan- 
ted the seeds on the spot. Soon after, several papaw trees sprang up, 
among which was one with female blossoms, that is to say, a fruit-bear- 
ing tree. This tree, at the time of Virginia’s departure, was scarcely as 
high as her knee; but, as it is a plant of rapid growth, in the course of 
two years it had gained the height of twenty feet, and the upper part of 
its stem was encircled by several rows of ripe fruit. Paul, wandering 
accidentally to the spot, was struck with delight at seeing this lofty tree, 
which had been planted by his beloved; but the emotion was transient, 
and instantly gave place to a deep melancholy, at this evidence of her 
long absence. The objects which are habitually before us do not bring 
to our minds an adequate idea of the rapidity of life; they decline in- 
sensibly with ourselves : but it is those we behold again, after having 
fur same years lost sight of them, that most powerfully impress us with 
a feeling of the swiftness wjth which the tide of life flows on. Paul was 
no less overwhelmed and affected at the sight of this great papaw tree, 
loaded with fruit, than is the traveller when, after a long absence from 
his own country, he finds his contemporaries no more, but their children, 
whom he left at the breast, themselves now become fathers of families. 
Paul sometimes thought of cutting down the tree, which recalled too 
sensibly the distracting remembrance of Virginia’s prolonged absence. 
At* other times, contemplating it as a monument of her benevolence, he 
kissed its trunk, and apostrophised it in terms of the most passionate 
regret. Indeed, I have myself gazed upon it with more emotion and 
more veneration than upon the triumphal arches at Rome. May nature, 
which every day destroys the monuments of kindly ambition, multiply in 
our forests those which testify the beneficence of a poor young girl ! 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


61 


At the foot of this papaw tree I was always sure to meet with Paul 
when he came into our neighborhood. One day I found him there ab- 
sorbed in melancholy, and a conversation took place between us, which 
I will relate to you, if I do not weary you too much by my long digres- 
sions; they are perhaps pardonable to my age and to my last friendships. 
I will relate it to you in the form of a dialogue, that you may form some 
idea of the natural good sense of this young man. You will easily 
distinguish the speakers, from the character of his question and of my 
answers. 

Paul . — I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle de la Tour has now been 
gone two years and eight months, and we have heard no tidings of her 
for eight months and a half. She is rich, and I am poor; she has for- 
gotten me. I have a great mind to follow her. I will go to France; 
I will serve the king; I will make my fortune; and then Mademoiselle 
de la Tour’s aunt will bestow her niece upon me when I shall have 
become a great lord. 

The Old Man. — But, my dear friend, have not you told me that you 
were not of noble birth ? 

Paul . — My mother has told me so; but, as for myself, I know not 
what noble birth means. I never perceived that I had less than others, 
or that others had more than I. 

The Old Man . — Obscure birth, in France, shuts every door of access 
to great employments; nor can you even be received among any dis- 
tinguished body of men, if you labor under this disadvantage. 

Paul . — You have often told me that it was one source of the greatness 
of France that her humblest subject might attain the highest honors; 
and you have cited to me many instances of celebrated men who, born 
in a mean condition, had conferred honor upon their country. It was 
your wish, then, by concealing the truth to stimulate my ardor? 

The Old Man. — Never, my son, would I lower it. I told you the 
truth with regard to the past; but now, everything has undergone a 
great change. Everything in France is now to be obtained by interest 
alone ; every place and employment is now become as it were the 
patrimony of a small number of families, or is divided among public 
bodies. The king is a sun, and the noble and great corporative bodies 
surround him like so many clouds ; it is almost impossible for any of 
his rays to reach you. Formerly, under less exclusive administrations, 
such phenomena have been seen. Then talents and merit showed them- 
selves everywhere, as newly cleared lands are always loaded with 


£)2 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


abundance. But great kings, who can really form a just estimate of 
men, and choose them with judgment, are rare. The ordinary race of 
monarchs allow themselves to be guided by the nobles and people who 
surround them. 

Paul. — But perpaps I shall find one of these nobles to protect me. 

The Old Man. — To gain the protection of the great you must lend 
yourself to their ambition, and administer to their pleasures. You will 
never succeed ; for, in addition to your obscure birth, you have too 
much integrity. 

Paul. — But I will perform such courageous actions, I will be so 
faithful to my word, so exact in the performance of my duties, so zeal- 
ous and so constant in my friendships, that I will render myself worthy 
to be adopted by some one of them. In the ancient histories, you 
have made me read, I have seen many examples of such adoptions. 

The Old Man. — Oil, my young friend! among the Greeks and 
Romans, even in their decline, the nobles had some respect for virtue ; 
but out of all the immense number of men, sprung from the mass of the 
people, in France, who have signalized themselves in every possible 
manner, I do not recollect a single instance of one being adopted by 
any great family. If it were not for our kings, virtue, in our country, 
would be eternally condemned as plebeian. As I said before, the 
monarch, sometimes, when he perceives it, renders to it due honor; but 
in. the present day, the distinctions which should be bestowed on merit 
are generally to be obtained by money alone. 

Paul. — If I cannot find a nobleman to adopt me, I will seek to 
please some public body. I will espouse its interests and its opinions : 
I will make myself beloved by it. 

The Old Man. — You will act then like other men? — you will 
renounce your conscience to obtain a fortune ? 

Paul. — Oh no! I will never lend myself to anything but the truth. 

The Old Man. — Instead of making yourself beloved, you would 
become an object of dislike. Besides, public bodies have never taken 
much interest in the discovery of truth. All opinions are nearly alike 
to ambitious men, provided only that they themselves can gain their 
ends. 

Paul. — How unfortunate I am ! Everything bars my progress. I 
am condemned to pass my life in ignoble toil, far from Virginia. 

As he said this he sighed deeply. 

The Old Man. — Let God be your patron, and mankind the public 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


63 


body you would serve. Be constantly attached to them both. Families, 
corporations, nations and kings have, all of them, their prejudices and 
their passions ; it is often necessary to serve them by the practice of 
vice ; God and mankind at large require only the exercise of the virtues. 

But why do you wish to be distinguished from other men ? It is 
hardly a natural sentiment, for, if all men possessed it, every one would 
be at constant strife with his neighbor. Be satisfied with fulfilling your 
duty in the station in which Providence has placed you ; be grateful for 
your lot, which permits you to enjoy the blessing of a quiet conscience, 
and which does not compel you, like the great, to let your happiness 
rest on the opinion of the little, or, like the little to cringe to the great, 
in order to obtain the means of existence. You are now placed in a 
country and a condition in which you are not reduced to deceive or 
flatter any one, or debase yourself, as the greater part of those who seek 
their fortune in Europe are obliged to do; in which the exercise of no 
virtue is forbidden you ; in which you may be, with impunity, good, 
sincere, well-informed, patient, temporate, chaste ; indulgent to others’ 
faults, pious, and no shaft of ridicule be aimed at you to destroy your 
wisdom, as yet only in its bud. Heaven has given you liberty, health, 
a good conscience, and friends ; kings themselves, whose 'favor you 
desire, are not so happy. 

Paul . — Ah ! I only want to have Virginia with me : without her I 
have nothing, — with her, I should possess all my desire. She alone is 
to me birth, glory, and fortune. But, since her relation will only give 
her to some one with a great name, I will study. By the aid of study 
and of books, learning and celebrity are to be attained. I will become 
a man of science : I will render my knowledge useful to the service of 
my country, without injuring any one, or owning dependence on any 
one. I will become celebrated, and my glory shall be achieved only by 
myself. 

The Old Man.— My son, talents are a gift yet more rare than either 
birth or riches, and undoubtedly they are a greater good than either, 
since they can never be taken away from us, and that they obtain for us 
everywhere public esteem. But they may be said to be worth all that 
they cost us. They are seldom acquired but by every species of priva- 
tion, by the possession of exquisite sensibility, which often produces 
inward unhappiness, and which exposes us without to the malice and 
persecutions of our contemporaries. The lawyer envies not, in France, 
the glory of the soldier, nor does the soldier envy that of the naval offi- 


64 


PAUL A AD VIRGINIA. 


cer; but tiny will all oppose you, and bar your progress to distinction, 
because your assumption of superior ability will wound the self-love of 
them all. You say that you will do good to men ; but recollect, that he 
who makes the earth produce a single ear of corn more, renders them a 
greater service than he who writes a book. 

Paul.— Oh ! she, then, who planted this papaw tree, has made a more 
useful and more grateful present to the inhabitants of these forests than 
if she had given them a whole library. 

So saying, he threw his arms around the tree, and kissed it with trans- 
port. 

The Old Man .— The best of books,— that which preaches nothing 
but equality, brotherly love, chaiity, and peace, — the Gospel has served 
as a pretext, during many centuries, for Europeans to let loose all their 
fury. How many tyrannies, both public and private, are still practiced 
in its name on the face of the earih ! After this, who will dare to flat- 
ter himself that anything he can write will be of service to his fellow- 
men ? Remember the fate of most of the philosophers who have 
preached to them wisdom. Homer, who clothed it in such noble verse, 
asked for alms all his life. Socrates, whose conversation and example 
gave such admirable lessons to the Athenians, was sentenced by them 
to be poisoned. His sublime disciple, Plato, was delivered over to 
slavery by the order of the very prince who protected him; and before 
them, Pythagoras, whose humanity extended even to animals, was burned 
alive by the Crotoniates. What do I say ? — many even of these illus- 
trious names have descended to us disfigured by some traits of satire by 
which they became characterized, human ingratitude taking pleasure in 
thus recognizing them; and if, in the crowd, the glory of some names 
is come down to us without spot or blemish, we shall find that who 
have borne them have lived far from the society of their contemporaries; 
like those statues which are found entire beneath the soil in Greece and 
Italy, and which, by being hidden in the bosom of the earth, have 
escaped uninjured, from the fury of the barbarians. 

You see, then, that to acquire the glory which a turbulent literary 
career can give you, you must not only be virtuous, but ready, if neces- 
sary, to sacrifice life itself. But, after all, do not fancy that the great in 
France trouble themselves about such glory as this. Little do they care 
for literary men, whose knowledge brings them neither honors, nor 
power, nor even admission at court. Persecution, it is true, is rarely 
practiced in this age, because it is habitually indifferent to everything 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


65 

except wealth and luxury ; but knowledge and virtue no longer lead to 
distinction, since everything in the state is to be purchased with money. 
Formerly, men of letters were certain of reward by some place in the 
church, the magistracy, or the administration ; now they are considered 
good for nothing but to write books. But . this fruit of their minds, little 
valued by the world at large, is still worthy of its celestial origin. For 
these books is reserved the privilege of shedding lustre on obscure virtue, 
of consoling the unhappy, of enlightening nations, and of telling the 
truth even to kings. This is unquestionably, the most august commission 
with which Heaven can honor a mortal upon this earth. Where is the 
author who would not be consoled for the injustice or contempt of those 
who are the dispensers of the ordinary gifts of fortune, when he reflects 
that his work may pass from age to age, from nation to nation, opposing 
a barrier to error and to tyranny; and that, from amidst the obscuriiy 
in which he has lived, there will shine forth a glory which will efface 
that of the common herd of monarchs, the monuments of whose deeds 
perish in oblivion, notwithstanding the flatterers who erect and magnify 
them ? 

Paul. — Ah ! I am only covetous of glory to bestow it on Virginia, and 
render her dear to the whole world. But can you, who know so much, 
tell me whether we shall ever be married ? I should like to be a very 
learned man, if only for the sake of knowing what will come to pass. 

The Old Man. — Who would live, my son, if the future were revealed 
to him ? — when a single anticipated misfortune gives us so much useless 
uneasiness — when the foreknowledge of one certain calamity is enough 
•to embitter every day that precedes it ! It is better not to pry too curiously, 
even into the things which surround us. Heaven, which has given us 
the power of reflection to foresee our necessities, gave us also those very 
necessities to set limits to its exercise. 

Patti. — You tell me that with money people in Europe acquire dig- 
nities and honors. I will go, then, to enrich myself in Bengal, and 
afterwards proceed to Paris, and marry Virginia. I will embark at 
once. 

The Old Man. — What ! would you leave her mother and yours ? 

Paul. — Why, you yourself have advised my going to the Indies. 

The Old Man. — Virginia was then here; but you are now the only 
jneans of support both of her mother and of your own. 

Paul. — Virginia will assist them by means of her rich relation. 

The Old Man. — The rich care little for those, from whom no honor 


66 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 


is reflected upon themselves in the world. Many of them have relations 
much more to be pitied than Madame de la Tour, who, for want of their 
assistance, sacrifice their liberty for bread, and pass their lives immured 
within the walls of a convent. 

Paul. — Oh, what a country is Europe ! Virginia must come back 
here. What need has she of a rich relation ? She was so happy in 
these huts ; she looked so beautiful and so well-dressed with a red hand- 
kerchief or a few flowers around her head! Return, Virginia ! leave 
your sumptuous mansions and your grandeur, and come back to these 
rocks, — to the shade of these woods and of our cocoa trees. Alas ! 
you are perhaps even now unhappy ! ” — and he began to shed tears. 
“My father,” continued he, “hide nothing from me; if you cannot tell 
me whether I shall marry Virginia, tell me at least if she loves me still, 
surrounded as she is by noblemen who speak to the king, and who go 
to see her.” 

The Old Man. — Oh, my dear friend! I am sure for many reasons, 
that she loves you : but above all, because she is virtuous. At these 
words he threw himself on my neck in a transport of joy. 

Paul. — But do you think that the women of Europe are false, as they 
are represented in the comedies and books which you have lent me ? 

The Old Man. — Women are false in those countries where men are 
tyrants. Violence always engenders a disposition to deceive. 

Paul. — In what way can men tyrannize over women? 

The Old Man. — In giving them in marriage without consulting their 
inclinations ; — in uniting a young girl to an old man, or a woman of 
sensibility to a frigid and indifferent husband. 

Paul.— Why not join together those who are suited to each other, — 
the young to the young, and lovers to those they love ? 

The Old Man. — Because few young men in France have property 
enough to support them when they are married, and cannot acquire it 
till the greater part of their life is passed. While young, they seduce 
the wives of others, and when they are old, they cannot secure the affec- 
tions of their own. At first, they themselves are deceivers : and after- 
wards, they are deceived in their turn. This is one of the reactions of 
that eternal justice, by which the world is governed ; an excess on one 
side is sure to be balanced by one on the other. Thus, the greater part 
of Europeans pass their lives in this two-fold irregularity, which in- 
creases everywhere in the same proportion that wealth is accumulated 
in the hands of a few individuals. Society is like a garden, where shrubs 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


67 

cannot grow if they are overshadowed by lofty trees ; but there is this 
wide difference between them, — that the beauty of a garden may result 
from the admixture of a small number of forest trees, while the pros- 
perity of a state depends on the multitude and equality of its citizens, 
and not on a small number of very rich men. 

Paul. — But where is the necessity of being rich in order to marry? 

The Old Man. — In order to pass through life in abundance, without 
being obliged to work. 

Paul.— But why not work ? J am sure I work hard enough. 

The Old Man.— In Europe, working with your hands is considered a 
degradation ; it is compared to the labor performed by a machine. The 
occupation of cultivating the earth is the most despised of all. Even an 
artizan is held in more estimation than a peasant. 

Paul.— What ! do you mean to say that the art which furnishes food 
for mankind is despised in Europe ? I hardly understand you. 

The Old Man. — Oh ! it is impossible for persons educated according 
to nature to form an idea of the depraved state of society. It is easy to 
form a precise notion of order, but not of disorder. Beauty, virtue, hap- 
piness, have all their defined proportions ; deformity, vice and misery 
have none. 

Paul. — The rich then are always very happy ! They meet with no 
obstacles to the fulfillment of their wishes, and they can lavish happiness 
on those whom they love. 

The Old Man. — Far from it, my son ! They are for the most part 
satiated with pleasure, for this very reason, — that it costs them no trou- 
ble. Have you never yourself experienced how much the pleasure of 
repose is increased by fatigue ; that of eating, by hunger; or that of 
drinking, by thirst ? The pleasure also of loving and being beloved is 
only to be acquired by innumerable privations and sacrifices. Wealth, 
by anticipating all their necessities, deprives its possessors of all these 
pleasures. To this ennui, consequent upon satiety, may also be added 
the pride which springs from their opulence, and which is wounded by 
the moss trifling privation, when the greatest enjoyments have ceased to 
charm. The perfume of a thousand roses gives pleasure but for a mo- 
ment ; but the pain occasioned by a single thorn endures long after the 
infliction of the wound. A single evil in the midst of their pleasures is 
to the rich like a thorn among flowers ; to the poor, on the contrary, 
one pleasure amidst all their troubles is a flower among a wilderness of 
thorns ; they have a most lively enjoyment of it. The effect of every- 


68 Paul and Virginia . 

thing is increased by contrast; nature has balanced all things. Which 
condition, after all, do you consider preferable, — to have scarcely any- 
thing to hope, and everything to fear, or to have everything to hope and 
nothing to fear ? The former condition is that of the richj the latter, 
that of the poor. But either of these extremes is with difficulty sup- 
ported by man, whose happiness consists in a middle station of life, in 
union with virtue. 

Paul . — What do you understand by virtue ! 

The Old Man .— To you, my son, who support your family by your 
labor, it need hardly be defined. Virtue consists in endeavoring to do 
all the good we can to others, with a ultimate intention of pleasing God 
alone. 

Paul .— Oh ! how virtuous, then, is Virginia 1 Virtue led her to seek 
for riches, that she might practice benevolence. Virtue induced her to 
quit this island, and virtue will bring her back to it. 

The idea of her speedy return firing the imagination of this young 
man, all his anxieties suddenly vanished. Virginia, he was persuaded, 
had not written, because she would soon arrive. 

it took so little time to come from Europe with a fair wind 1 Then 
he enumerated the vessels which had made this passage of four thousand 
five hundred leagues in less than three months ; and perhaps the vessel 
in which Virginia had embarked might not be more than two. Ship- 
builders were now so ingenious, and sailors were so expert! He then 
talked to me of the arrangements he intended to make for her reception, 
of the new house he would build for her, and of the pleasures and 
surprises which he would contrive for her every day, when she was his 
Wife. His wife! The idea filled him with ecstasy. “At least, my 
dear father,” said he, “you shall then do no more work than you please. 
As Virginia will be rich, we shall have plenty of negroes, and they shall 
work for you. You shall always live with us, and have no other care 
than to amuse yourself and be happy; ” — and, his heart throbbing with 
joy, he flew to communicate these exquisite anticipations to his family. , 

In a short time, however, these enchanting hopes were succeeded by 
the most cruel apprehensions. It is always the effect of violent passions 
to throw the soul into opposite extremes. Paul returned next day to my 
dwelling, overwhelmed with melancholy, and said to me, — “I hear no- 
thing from Virginia. Had she left Europe she would have written me 
word of her departure. Ah ! the reports which I have heard concern- 
ing her are but too well founded. Her aunt has married her to some 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


69 

great lord. She, like others, has been undone by the love of riches. In 
those books which paint women so well, virtue is treated but as a subject 
of romance. If Virginia had been virtuous, she would never have for- 
saken her mother and me. I do nothing but think of her, and she has 
forgotten me. I am wretched, and she is diverting herself. The thought 
distracts me • I cannot bear myself ! Would to Heaven that war were 
declared in India! I would go there and die.” 

“My son,” I answered, “that courage which prompts us on to court 
death is but the courage of a moment, and is often excited only by the 
vain applause of men, or by the hope of posthumous renown. There is 
another description of courage, rarer and more necessary, which enables 
us to support, without witness and without applause, the vexations of 
life; this virtue is patience. Relying for support, not upon the opinions 
of others, or the impulse of the passions, but upon the will of God, 
patience is the courage of virtue.” 

“Ah!” cried he. “I am then without virtue! Everything over- 
whelms me and drives me to despair.” “Equal, constant, and in- 
variable virtue,” I replied, “belongs not to man. In the midst of the 
many passions which agitate us, our reason is disordered and obscure: 
but there is an ever-burning lamp, at which we can rekindle its flame; 
and that is, literature. 

“Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Heaven, a ray of that wisdom 
by which the universe is governed, and which man, inspired by a celes- 
tial intelligence, has drawn down to earth. Like the rays of the sun, 
it enlightens us, it rejoices us, it warms us with a heavenly flame, and 
seems, in some sort, like the element of fire, to bend all nature to our 
use. By its means we are enabled to bring around us all things, all 
places, all men, and all times. It assists us to regulate our manners and 
our life. By its aid, too, our passions are calmed, vice is suppressed, and 
virtue encouraged by the memorable examples of great and good men 
which it has handed down to us, and whose time-honored images it ever 
brings before our eyes. Literature is a daughter of Heaven who has 
descended upon earth to soften and charm away all the evils of the 
human race. The greatest writers have ever appeared in the worst 
times, — in times in which society can hardly be held together, — the 
times of barbarism and every species of depravity. My son, literature 
has consoled an infinite number of men more unhappy than yourself : 
Xenophon, banished from his country after having saved to her ten 
thousand of her sons; Scipio Africanus, wearied to death by the calum- 


70 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


nies of the Romans: Lucullus, tormented by their cabals; and Catinat, 
by the ingratitude of a court. The Greeks, with their never failing in- 
genuity, assigned to each of the Muses a portion of the great circle of 
human intelligence for her especial superintendence ; we ought in the 
same manner, to give up to them the regulation of our passions, to bring 
them under proper restraint. Literature in this imaginative guise, would 
thus fulfill, in relation to the powers of the soul, the same functions as 
the Hours, who yoked and conducted the chariot of the Sun. 

“Have recourse to your books, then, my son. The wise men who 
have written before our days are travellers who have preceded us in the 
paths of misfortune, and who stretch out a friendly hand toward us, 
and invite us to join their society, when we are abandoned by every- 
thing else. A good book is a good friend.” 

“Ah ! ” cried Paul, “I stood in no need of books when Virginia was 
here, and she had studied as little as myself; but when she looked at 
me, and called me her friend, I could not feel unhappy.” 

“Undoubtedly,” said I, “there is no friend so agreeable as a mistress 
by whom we are beloved. There is moreover, in woman a liveliness 
and gayety, which powerfully tend to dissipate the melancholy feelings 
of a man ; her presence drives away the dark phantoms of imagination 
produced by over reflection. Upon her countenance sit soft attractions 
and tender confidence. What joy is not heightened when it is shared 
by her? What brow is not unbent by her smiles? What anger can 
resist her tears ? Virginia will return with more philosophy than you, 
and will be quite surprised to find the garden so unfinished ; — she who 
could think of its embellishments in spite of all the persecutions of her 
aunt, and when far from her mother and from you.” 

The idea of Virginia’s speedy return reanimated the drooping spirits 
of her lover, and he remused his rural occupations, happy amidst his 
toils, in the reflection that they would soon find a termination so dear to 
the wishes of his heart. 

One morning, at break of day, (it was the 24th of December, 1744), 
Paul, when he arose, perceived a white flag hoisted upon the Mountian 
of Discovery. This flag he knew to be the signal of a vessel descried 
at sea. He instantly flew to the town to learn if this vessel brought any 
tidings of Virginia, and waited there till the return of the pilot, who 
was gone, according to custom, to board the ship. The pilot did not 
return till the evening, when he brought the governor information that 
the signalled vessel was the Saint Geran, of seven hundred tons burden, 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


7i 


and commanded by a captain of the name of Aubin ; that she was now 
four leagues out at sea, but would probably anchor at Port Louis the 
following afternoon, if the wind became fair ; at present there was a 
calm. The pilot then handed to the governor a number of letters which 
the Saint Geran had brought from France, among which was one 
addressed to Madame de la Tour, in the handwriting of Virginia. Pau 
seized upon the letter, kissed it with the transport, and placing it in his 
bosom, flew to the plantation. No sooner, did he perceive from a 
distance the family, who were awaiting his return, upon the rock of 
Adieus, than he waived the letter aloft in the air, without being able to 
utter a word. No sooner was the seal broken, than they all crowded 
round Madame de la Tour, to hear the letter read. Virginia informed 
her mother that she had experienced much ill-usage from her aunt, who, 
after having in vain urged her to a marriage against her inclination, had 
disinherited her, and had sent her back at a time when she would probably 
reach the Mauritius during the hurricane season. In vain, she added, 
had she endeavored to soften her aunt, by representing what she owed 
to her mother, and to her early habits ; she was treated as a romantic 
girl, whose’ head had been turned by novels. She could now only 
think of the joy of again seeing and embracing her beloved family, and 
would have gratified her ardent desire at once, by landing in the pilot’s 
boat, if the captain had allowed her; but that he had objected, on 
account of the distance, and of a heavy swell, which, notwithstanding 
the calm, reigned in the open sea. 

As soon as the letter was finished, the whole of the family, transported 
with joy, repeatedly exclaimed, “Virginia is arrived !” and mistresses 
and servants embraced each other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul, 
“My son, go and inform our neighbor of Virginia’s arrival.” Domingo 
immediately lighted a torch of bois de ronde, and he and Paul bent 
their way towards my dwelling. 

It was about ten o’clock at night, and I was just going to extinguish 
my lamp, and retire to rest, when I perceived, through the palisades 
round my cottage, a light in the woods. Soon after, I heard the voice 
of Paul calling me. I instantly arose, and had hardly dressed myself, 
when Paul, almost beside himself, and panting for breath, sprang on my 
neck, crying, — “Come along, come along. Virginia is arrived. Let us 
go to the port ; the vessel will anchor at break of day.” 

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when we set off. As we were 
passing through the woods of the Sloping Mountain, and were already 


72 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


on the road which leads from the Shaddock Grove to the port, I heard 
some one walking behind us. It proved to be a negro, and he w-as 
advancing with hasty steps. When he reached us, I asked him whence 
he came, and wither he was going with such expedition. He answered, 
“I come from that part of the island called Golden Dust; and am sent 
to the port, to inform the governor that a ship from France has anchored 
under the Isle of Amber. She is firing guns of distress, for the sea is 
very rough.” Having said this, the man left us, and pursued his 
journey without any further delay. 

I then said to Paul, — “Let us go towards the quarter of the Golden 
Dust, and meet Virginia there. It is not more than three leagues from 
hence.” We accordingly bent our course towards the northern part of 
the island. The heat was suffocating. The moon had risen, and was 
surrounded by three large black circles. A frightful darkness shrouded 
the sky ; but frequent flashes of lightning discovered to us long rows of 
thick and gloomy clouds, hanging very low, and heaped together over the 
centre of the island, being driven in with great rapidity from the ocean, 
although not a breath of air was perceptible upon the land. As we 
walked along, we thought we heard peals of thunder ; but, on listening 
more attentively, we perceived that it was the sound of cannon at a 
distance, repeated by the echoes. These ominous sounds, joined to the 
V tempestuous aspect of the heavens, made me shudder. I had little 
\doubt of their being signals of distress from a ship in danger. In about 
half an hour the firing ceased, and I found the silence still more appal- 
ling than the dismal sounds which had preceded it. 

We hastened on without uttering a word, or daring to communicate 
to each other our mutual apprehensions. At midnight, by great 
exertion, we arrived at the sea-shore, in that part of the island called 
Golden Dust. The billows were breaking against the beach with a 
horrible noise, covering the rocks and the strand with foam of a dazzling 
whiteness, blended with sparks of fire. By these phosphoric gleams we 
distinguished, nothwithstanding the darkness, a number of fishing 
canoes, drawn up high upon the beach. 

At the entrance of a wood, a short distance from us, we saw a fire, 
round which a party of the inhabitants were assembled. We repaired 
thither, in order to rest ourselves till the morning. While we were 
seated near this fire, one of the standers-by related, that late in the after- 
noon he had seen a vessel in the open sea, driven towards the island by 
the currents; that the night had hidden it from his view ; and that two 


\ 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


73 


hours after sunset he had heard the firing of signal guns of distress, but 
that the surf was so high, that it was impossible to launch a boat to go 
off to her; that a short time after, he thought he perceived the glim- 
mering of the watch-lights on board the vessel, which, he feared, by its 
having approached so near the coast, had steered between the main 
land and the little island of Amber, mistaking the latter for the Point of 
Endeavor, nedr which veesels pass in order to gain Port Louis ; and 
that, if this were the case, which, however, he would not take upon 
himself to be certain of, the ship, he thought, was in very great 
danger. Another islander then informed us, that he had frequently 
crossed the channel which separates the isle of Amber from the coast, 
and had sounded it ; that the anchorage was very good, and that the 
ship would there lie as safely as in the best harbor. “I would stake all 
I’m worth upon it,” said he, “and if I were on board, I should sleep as 
sound as on shore.” A third bystander declared that it was impossible 
for the ship to enter that channel, which was scarcely navigable for a boat. 
He was certain, he said, that he had seen the vessel at anchor beyond 
the isle of Amber; so that, if the wind arose in the morning, she could 
either put to sea, or gain the harbor. Other inhabitants gave different 
opinions upon this subject, which they continued to discuss in the usual 
desultory manner of the indolent Creoles. Paul and I observed a 
profound silence. We remained on this 'spot till break of day, but the 
weather was too hazy to admit of our distinguishing any object at sea, 
everything being covered with fog. All we could descry to seaward 
was a dark cloud, which they told us was the isle of Amber, at a 
distance of a quarter of a league from the coast. On this gloomy day 
we could only discern the point of land on which we were standing, 
and the peaks of some inland mountains, which started out occasionally 
from the midst of the clouds that hung around them. 

At about seven in the morning we heard the sound of drums in the 
woods ; it announced the approach of the governor, Monsieur de la 
Bourdonnais, who soon after arrived on horseback, at the head of a 
detachment of soldiers armed with muskets, and a crowd of islanders 
and negroes. He drew up his soldiers upon the beach, and ordered 
them to make a general discharge. This was no sooner done, than we 
perceived a glimmering light upon the water which was instantly 
followed by the report of a cannon. We judged that the ship was at 
no great distance and all ran towards that part whence the light and 
sound proceeded. We now discerned through the fog the hull and 


74 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


yards of a large vessel. We were so near to her, that notwithstanding 
the tumult of the waves, we could distinctly hear the whistle of the 
boatswain, and the shouts of the sailors, who cried out three times, 
Vive le roi! this being the cry of the French in extreme danger, as 
well as in exuberent joy ; — as though they wished to call their prince 
to their aid, or to testify to him that they are prepared to lay down their 
lives in his service. 

As soon as the Saint Geran perceived that we were near enough to 
render her assistance, she continued to fire guns regularly at intervals of 
three minutes. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais caused great fires to be 
lighted at certain distances upon the strand, and sent to all the inhabit- 
ants of the neighborhood, in search of provisions, planks, cables, and 
empty barrels. A number of people soon arrived, accompanied by their 
negroes loaded with provisions and cordage, which they had brought from 
the plantations of Golden Dust, from the district of La Flaque, and from 
the river of the Rampart. 

One of the most aged of these planters, approaching the governor, 
said to him. “We have heard all night hollow noises in the mountain; 
in the woods, the leaves of the trees are shaken, although there is no 
wind; the sea-birds seek refuge upon the land; it is certain that all 
these signs announce a hurricane.” “Well, my friend.” answered the 
governor,” we are prepared for it, and no doubt the vessel is also.” 

Eyerything, indeed, presaged the near approach of the hurricane. 
The centre of the clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, while 
their skirts were tinged with a copper-colored hue. The air resounded 
with the cries of the tropic-birds, petrels, frigate-birds, and innumerable 
other sea-fowl, which notwithstanding the obscurity of the atmosphere, 
were seen coming from every point of the horizon, to seek for shelter in 
the island. 

Towards nine in the morning we heard in the direction of the ocean 
the most terrific noise, like the sound of thunder mingled with that of 
torrents rushing down the steeps of lofty mountains. A general cry was 
heard of, “There is the hurricane! ” and the next moment a frightful 
gust of wind dispelled the fog which covered the isle of Amber and its 
channel. The Saint Geran then presented herself to our view, her deck 
crowded with people, her yards and topmasts lowered down, and her 
flag half-mast high, moored by four cables at her bow and one at her 
stern. She had anchored between the isle of Amber and the main land, 
inside the chain of reefs which encircles the island, and which she had 


PAUL A AD VIRGINIA. 


75 


passed through in a place where no vessel had ever passed before. She 
presented her head to the waves that rolled in from the open sea, and as 
each billow rushed into the narrow strait where she lay, her bow lifted 
to such a degree as to show her keel ; and at the same moment her 
stern, plunging into the water, disappeared altogether from our sight, as 
if it were swallowed up by the surges. In this position, driven by the 
winds and waves towards the shore, it was equally impossible for her to 
return by the passage through which she had made her way; or, by cut- 
ting her cables, to strand herself upon the beach, from which she was 
separated by sandbanks and reefs of rocks. Every billow which broke 
upon the coast advanced roaring to the bottom of the bay, throwing up 
heaps of shingles to the distance of fifty feet upon the land ; then, rushing 
back, laid bare its sandy bed, from which it rolled immense stones, with 
a hoarse and dismal noise. The sea, swelled by the violence of the 
wind, rose higher every moment; and the whole channel between this 
island and the isle of Amber was soon one vast sheet of white foam, 
full of yawning pits of black and deep billows. 

Heaps of this foam, more than six feet high, were piled up at the bot- 
tom of the bay; and the winds which swept its surface carried masses 
of it over the steep sea-bank, scattering it upon the land to the distance 
of half a league. These innumerable white flakes, driven horizontally 
even to the very foot of the mountains, looked like snow issuing from 
the bosom of the ocean. The appearance of the horizon portended a 
lasting tempest : the sky and the water seemed blended together. Thick 
masses of clouds, of a frightful form, swept across the zenith with the 
swiftness of birds, while others appeared motionless as recks. Not a 
single spot of blue sky could be discerned in the whole firmament; and 
a pale yellow gleam only lighted up all the objects of the earth, the sea, 
and the skies. 

From the violent rolling of the ship, what we all dreaded happened at 
last. The cables which held her bow were torn away; she then swung 
to a single hawser, and was instantly dashed upon the rocks, at a dis- 
tance of half a cable’s length from the shore. A general cry of horror 
issued from the spectators. Paul rushed forward to throw himself into 
the sea, when, seizing him by the arm, “My son,” I exclaimed, “would 
you perish ?” “Let me go to save her,” he cried, “or let me die!” 
Seeing that despair had deprived him of reason, Domingo and I, in or- 
der to preserve him, fastened a long cord around his waist, and held it 
fast by the end. Paul then precipitated himself towards the Saint Geran, 


76 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


now swimming, and now walking upon the rocks. Sometimes he had 
hopes of reaching the vessel, which the sea, by the reflux of its waves, 
had left almost dry, so that you could have walked round it on foot; but 
suddenly the billows, returning with fresh fury, shrouded it beneath 
mountains of water, which then lifted it upright upon its keel. The 
breakers at the same moment threw the unfortunate Paul far upon the 
beach, his legs bathed in blood, his bosom wounded, and himself half 
dead. The moment he had recovered the use of his senses, he arose, 
and returtied with new ardor towards the vessel, the parts of which now 
yawned asunder from the violent strokes of the billows. The crew then, 
despairing of their safety, threw themselves in crowds into the sea, upon 
yards, planks, hen-coops, tables, and barrels. At this moment we 
beheld an object which wrung our hearts with grief and pity; a young 
lady appeared in the stern-gallery of the Saint Geran, stretching out her 
arms towards him who was making so many efforts to join her. It was 
Virginia. She had discovered her lover by his intrepidity. The sight 
of this amiable girl, exposed to such horrible danger, filled us with 
unutterable despair. As for Virginia, with a firm and dignified mien, 
she waved her hand, as if bidding us.an eternal farewell. All the sailors 
had flung themselves into the sea, except one, who still remained upon 
the deck, and who was naked, and strong as Hercules. This man ap- 
proached Virginia with respect, and kneeling at her feet, attempted to 
force her to throw off her clothes; but she repulsed him with modesty, 
and turned away her head. 

Then were heard redoubled cries from the spectators, “Save her ! — 
save her ! — do not leave her!” But at that moment a mountain billow, 
of enormous magnitude, ingulfed itself hetween the isle of Amber and 
the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, toward which it rolled bel- 
lowing, with its black sides and foaming head. At this terrible sight 
the sailor flung himself into the sea; and Virginia, seeing death inevita- 
ble, crossed her hands upon her breast, and raising upwards her serene 
and beauteous eyes, seemed an angel prepared to take flight to Heaven. 

Oh, day of horror ! Alas everything was swallowed up by the relent- 
less billows. The surge threw some of the spectators, whom an impulse 
of humanity had prompted to advance towards Virginia, far upon the 
beach, and also the sailor who had endeavored to save her life. This 
man, who had escaped from almost certain death, kneeling on the sand 
exclaimed, — “Oh, my God! thou hast saved my life, but I would have 
given it willingly for that excellent, young lady, who had persevered in 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


77 


not undressing herself as I had done.” Domingo and I drew the un- 
fortunate Paul to the shore. He was senseless, and blood was flowing 
from his mouth and ears. The governor ordered him to be put into the 
hands of a surgeon, while we, on our part, wandered along the beach, 
in hopes that the sea would throw up the corpse of Virginia. But the 
wind having suddenly changed, as it frequently happens during hurri- 
canes, our search was in vain: and we had the grief of thinking that we 
should not be able to bestow on this sweet and unfortunate girl the last 
sad duties. We retired from the spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our 
minds wholly occupied by one cruel loss, although numbers had 
perished in the wreck. Some of the spectators_seemed tempted, from 
the fatal destiny of this virtuous girl, to doubt the existence of Provi- 
dence : for there are in life such terrible, such unmerited evils, that even 
the hope of the wise is sometimes shaken. 

In the mean time Paul, who began to recover his senses, was taken 
to a house in the neighborhood, till he was in a fit state to be removed 
to his own home. Thither I bent my way with Domingo to discharge 
the melancholy duty of preparing Virginia’s mother and her friend for 
the disastrous event which had happened. When we had reached the 
entrance of the valley of the river of Fan- Palms, some negroes informed 
us that the sea had thrown up many pieces of the wreck in the opposite 
bay. We descended towards it and one of the first objects that struck 
my sight upon the beach was the corpse of Virginia. The body was 
half covered with sand, and preserved the attitude in which we had 
seen her perish. Her features were not sensibly changed, her eyes were 
closed, and her countenance was still serene ; but the pale purple hues 
of death were blended on her cheek with the blush of virgin modesty. 
One of her hands was placed upon her clothes ; and the other which 
she held on her heart, was fast closed, and so stiffened, that it was \yith 
difficulty that I took from its grasp a small box. How great was my 
emotion when I saw that it contained the picture of Paul, which she 
had promised him never to part with while she lived ! At the sight of this 
last mark of the fidelity and tenderness of the unfortunate girl, I wept 
bitterly. As for Domingo, he beat his breast, and pierced the air with 
his shrieks. With heavy hearts we then carried the body of Virginia to 
a fisherman’s hut, and gave it in charge of some poor Malabar women, 
who carefully washed away the sand. 

While they were employed in this melancholy office, we ascended 
the hill with trembling steps to the plantation. We found Madam? (Je 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


78 

la Tour and Margaret at prayer ; hourly expecting to have tidings from 
the ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me coming, she eagerly 
cried, — “Where is my daughter — my dear daughter, — my child ?” My 
silence and my tears apprised her of her misfortune. Shp was instantly 
seized with convulsive stopping of the breath and agonizing pains, and 
her voice was only heard in signs and groans. Margaret cried, “Where 
is my son ? I do not see my son !” and fainted. We ran to her assist- 
ance. In a short time she recovered, and being assured that Paul was 
safe, and under the care of the governor, she thought of nothing but of 
succoring her friend, who recovered from one fainting fit only to fall 
into another. Madame de la Tour passed the whole night in these cruel 
sufferings, and I became convinced that there was no sorrow like that of 
a mother. When she recovered her senses, she cast a fixed, unconscious 
look towards heaven. In vain her friend and myself pressed her hands 
in ours; in vain we called upon her by the most tender names; she 
appeared wholly insensible to these testimonials of our affection, and no 
sound issued from her oppressed bosom, but deep and hollow moans. 

During the morning Paul was carried home in a palanquin. He had 
now recovered the use of his reason, but was unable to utter a word. 
His interview with his mother and Madame de la Tour, which I had 
dreaded, produced a better effect than all my cares. A ray of consola- 
tion gleamed on the countenances of the two unfortunate mothers. 
They pressed close to him, clasped him in their arms, and kissed 
him; their tears, which excess of anguish had till now dried up at the 
source, began to flow. Paul mixed his tears with theirs; and nature 
having thus found relief, a long stupor succeeded the convulsive pangs 
they had suffered, and afforded them a lethargic repose, which was in 
truth, like that of death. 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprize me secretly that the corpse 
of Virginia had been borne to the town by his order, from whence it 
was to be transferred to the church of the Shaddock Grove. I immedi- 
ately went down to Port Louis, where I found a multitude assembled 
from all parts of the island, in order to be present at the funeral solem- 
nity, as if the isle had lost that which was nearest and dearest to it. 
The vessels in the harbor had their yards crossed, their flags half-mast, 
and fired guns at long intervals. A body of grenadiers led the funeral 
procession, with their muskets reversed, their muffled drums sending 
forth slow and dismal sounds. Dejection was depicted in the counte- 
nance of these warriors, who had so often braved death in battle without 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


79 


changing color. Eight young ladies of considerable families of the 
island, dressed in white, and bearing palm-branches in their hands, 
carried the corpse of their amiable companion, which was covered with 
flowers. They were followed by a chorus of children, chanting hymns, 
and by the governor, his field officer, all the principal inhabitants of the 
island, and an immense crowd of people. 

This imposing funeral solemnity had been ordered by the administra- 
tion of the country, which was desirous of doing honor to the virtues of 
Virginia. But when the mournful procession arrived at the foot of this 
mountain, within sight of those cottages of which she had been so long 
an inmate and an ornament, diffusing happiness all around them, and 
which her loss had now filled with despair, the funeral pomp was 
interrupted, the hymns and anthems ceased, and the whole plain 
resounded with sighs and lamentations. Numbers of young girls ran 
from the neighboring plantations, to touch the coffin of Virginia with 
their handkerchiefs, and with chaplets and crowns of flowers, invoking 
her as a saint. Mothers asked of heaven a child like Virginia; lovers, 
a heart as faithful ; the poor, as tender a friend ; and the slaves as kind 
a mistress. 

When the procession had reached the place of interment, some 
negresses of Madagascar and Caflfres of Mozambique placed a number 
of baskets of fruit around the corpse, and hung pieces of stuff upon 
the adjoining trees, according to the custom of their several countries. 
Some Indian women from Bengal also, and from the coast of Malabar, 
brought cages full of small birds, which they set at liberty upon her 
coffin. Thus deeply did the loss of this amiable being affect the natives 
of different countries, and thus was the ritual of various religions 
performed over the tomb of unfortunate virtue. 

It became necessary to place guards around her grave, and to employ 
gentle force in removing some of the daughters of the neighboring 
villagers, who endeavored to throw themselves into it, saying that they 
had no longer any consolation to hope for in this world, and that 
nothing remained for them but to die with their benefactress. 

On the western side of the church of the Shaddock Grove is a small 
copse of bamboos, where, in returning from mass with her mother and 
Margaret, Virginia loved to rest herself, seated by the side of him whom 
she then called brother. This was the spot selected for her interment. 

At his return from the funeral solemnity, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
came up here, followed by part of his numerous retinue. He offered 


8o 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


Madame de la Tour and her friend all the assistance it was in his power 
to bestow. After briefly expressing his indignation at the conduct of 
her unnatural aunt, he advanced to Paul, and said everything which he 
thought most likely to soothe and console him. “ Heaven is my 
witness,” said he, “ that I wished to insure your happiness, and that of 
your family. My dear friend, you must go to France; I will obtain a 
commission for you, and during your absence I will take the same care 
of your mother as if she were my own.” He then offered him his hand ; 
but Paul drew away and turned his head aside, unable to bear his sight. 

I remained for some time at the plantation of my unfortunate friends, 
that I might render to them and Paul those offices of friendship that 
were in my power, and which might alleviate, though they could not 
heal the wounds of calamity. At the end of three weeks Paul was able 
to walk ; but his mind seemed to droop in proportion as his body 
gathered strength. He was insensible to everything; his look was va- 
cant; and when asked a question, he made no reply. Madame de la 
Tour, who was dying, said to him often, — “ My son, while I look at 
you, I think I see my dear Virginia.” At the name of Virginia he 
shuddered, and hastened away from her, notwithstanding the entreaties 
of his mother, who begged him to come back to her friend. He used 
to go alone into the garden, and seat himself at the foot of Virginia’s 
cocoa-tree, with his eyes fixed upon the fountain. The governor’s sur- 
geon, who had shown the most humane attention to Paul and the whole 
family, told us that in order to cure the deep melancholy which had 
taken possession of his mind, we must allow him to do whatever he 
pleased, without contradiction : this, he said, afforded the only chance 
of overcoming the silence in which he persevered. 

I resolved to follow this advice. The first use which Paul made of 
his returning strength was to absent himself from the plantation. Being 
determined not to lose sight of him I set out immediately and desired 
Domingo to take some provisions and accompany us. The young man’s 
strength and spirits seemed renewed as he descended the mountain. He 
first took the road to the Shaddock Grove, and when he was near the 
church, in the Alley of Bamboos, he walked directly to the spot where 
he saw some earth fresh turned up; kneeling down there, and raising 
his eyes to heaven, he offered up a long prayer. This appeared to me 
a favorable symptom of the return of his reason ; since this mark of con- 
fidence in the Suprefne Being showed that his mind was beginning to 
resume its natural functions. Domingo and I, following his example, 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


8 1 

fell upon our knees, and mingled our prayers with his. When he 
arose, he bent his way, paying little attention to us, towards the north- 
ern part of the island. As I knew that he was not only ignorant of the 
spot where the body of Virginia had been deposited, but even of the 
fact that it had been recovered from the waves, I asked him why he had 
offered up his prayer at the foot of those bamboos. He answered,— 
“ We have been there so often.” 

He continued his course until we reached the borders of the forest, 
when night came on. I set him the example of taking some nourish- 
ment, and prevailed on him to do the same; and we slept upon the 
grass, at the foot of a tree. The next day I thought he seemed disposed 
to retrace his steps ; for after having gazed a considerable time from the 
plain upon the church of the Shaddock Grove, with its long avenues of 
bamboos, he made a movement as if to return home ; but suddenly 
plunging into the forest, he directed his course towards the north. I 
guessed what was his design, and I endeavored, but in vain, to dissuade 
him from it. About noon we arrived at the quarter of Golden Dust. 
He rushed down to the sea-shore, opposite to the spot where the Saint 
Geran had been wrecked. At the sight of the isle of Amber, and its 
channel, then smooth as a mirror, *he exclaimed — “Virginia! oh, my 
dear Virginia !” and fell senseless. Domingo and I carried him into 
the woods, where we had some difficulty in recovering him. As soon 
as he regained his senses, he wished to return to the sea shore ; but we 
conjured, him not to renew his own anguish and ours by such cruel 
remembrances, and he took another direction. During a whole week 
he sought every spot where he had once wandered with the companion 
of his childhood. He -traced the path by which she had gone to in- 
tercede for the slave of the Black River. He gazed again upon the 
banks of the river of the Three Breasts, where she had rested herself 
when unable to walk further, and upon the part of the wood where they 
had lost their way. All the haunts, which recalled to his memory the 
anxieties, the sports, the repasts, the benevolence of her he loved, the 
river of the Sloping Mountain, my house, the neighboring cascade, the 
papaw tree she had planted, the grassy fields in which she loved to run, 
the openings of the forest where she used to sing, all in succession 
called forth his tears; and those very echoes which had so often re- 
sounded with their mutual shouts of joy, now repeated only these ac- 
cents of despair, — “ Virginia! oh, my dear Virginia.” 

During this savage and wandering life, his eyes became simk and 


82 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


hollow, his skin assumed a yellow tint, and his health rapidly declined. 
Convinced that our present sufferings are rendered more acute by the 
bitter recollections of bygone pleasures, and that the passions gather 
strength in solitude, I resolved to remove my unfortunate friend from 
those scenes which recalled the remembrance of his loss, and to lead 
him to a more busy part of the island. With this view, I conducted him 
to the inhabited part of the elevated quarter of Williams, which he had 
never visited, and where the busy pursuits of agriculture and commerce 
ever occasioned much bustle and variety. Numbers of carpenters were 
employed in hewing down and squaring trees, while others were sawing 
them into planks ; carriages were continually passing and repassing on 
the roads; numerous herds of oxen and troops of horses were feeding 
on those widespread meadows, and the whole country was dotted with 
the dwellings of man. On some spots the elevation of the soil permitted 
the culture of many of the plants of Europe : the yellow ears of ripe 
corn waved upon the plains; strawberry plants grew in the openings of 
the woods, and the roads were bordered by hedges of rose-trees. The 
freshness of the air, too, giving tension to the nerves, was favorable to 
the health of the Europeans. From those heights, situated near the 
middle of the island, and surrounded by extensive forests, neither the 
sea, nor Port Louis, nor the church of Shaddock Grove, nor any other 
object associated \vith the remembrance of Virginia could be discerned. 
Even the mountains, which present various shapes on the side of Port 
Louis, appear from hence like a long promontory, in a straight and per- 
pendicular line, from which arise lofty pyramids of rock, whose sum- 
mits are enveloped in the clouds. 

Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept him continually in action, 
walking with him in rain and sunshine, by day and by night. I some- 
times wandered with him into the depths of the forests, or led him over 
untilled grounds, hoping that change of scene and fatigue might divert 
his mind from its gloomy meditations. But the soul of a lover finds 
everywhere the traces of the beloved object. Night and day, the calm 
of solitude and the tumult of crowds, are to him the same; time itself, 
which cast the shade of oblivion over so many other remembrances, in 
vain would tear that tender and sacred recollection from the heart. The 
needle, when touched by the loadstone, however it may have been 
moved from its position, is no sooner left to repose, than it returns to 
the pole of its attraction. So when I inquired of Paul, as we wandered 
amidst the plain of Williams,— “ Where shall we now go ? ” he pointed 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


83 


to the north, and said, “Yonder are our mountains; let us return home.” 

I now saw that all the means I took to divert him from his melan- 
choly were fruitless, and that no resource was left but an attempt to 
combat his passion by the arguments which reason suggested. I an- 
swered him, — “Yes, there are the mountains where once dwelt your 
beloved Virginia ; and here is the picture you gave her, and which she 
held, when dying, to her heart — that heart, which even in its last mo- 
ments only beat for you.” I then presented to Paul the little portrait 
which he had given to Virginia on the borders of the cocoa-tree fountain. 
At this sight a gloomy joy overspread his countenance. He eagerly 
seized the picture with his feeble hands, and held it to his lips. His 
oppressed bosom seemed ready to burst with emotion, and his eyes were 
filled with tears which had no power to flow. 

“My son,” said I, “listen to one who is your friend, who was the 
friend of Viginia, and who, in the bloom of your hopes, has often en- 
deavored to fortify your mind against the unforeseen accidents of life. 
What do you deplore with so much bitterness ? Is it your own misfor- 
tunes, or those of Virginia, which affect you so deeply ? 

“ Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. You have lost the most 
amiable of girls, who would have grown up to womanhood a pattern to 
her sex, one who sacrificed her own interests to yours : who preferred 
you to all that fortune could bestow, and considered you as the only 
recompense worthy of her virtues. 

“ But might not this very object, from whom you expected the purest 
happiness, have proved to you the most cruel distress ? She had 
returned poor and disinherited; all you could henceforth have par- 
taken with her was your labor. Rendered more delicate by her educa- 
tion, and more courageous by her misfortunes, you might have beheld 
her every day sinking beneath her efforts to share and lighten your 
fatigues. Had she brought you children, they would only have served 
to increase her anxieties and you own, from the difficulty of sustaining 
at once your aged parents and your infant family. 

“Very likely you will tell me that the governor would have helped 
you ; but how do you know that in a colony whose governors are so 
frequently changed, you would have had others like Monsieur de la 
Bourdonnais ? — that one might not have been sent destitute of good 
feeling and of morality? — that your young wife, in order to procure 
some miserable pittance, might not have been obliged to seek his favor? 
Had she been weak you would have been to be pitied ; and if she had 


8 4 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


remained virtuous, you would have continued poor : forced even to 
consider yourself fortunate if, on account of the beauty and virtue of 
your wife, you had not to endure persecution from those who had 
promised you protection. 

“It would still have remained to you, you may say, to have enjoyed 
a pleasure independent of fortune, that of protecting a beloved being, 
who, in proportion to her own helplessness, had more attached herself 
to you. You may fancy that your pains and sufferings would have 
served to endear you to each other, and that your passion would have 
gathered strength from your mutual misfortunes. Undoubtedly virtuous 
love does find consolation even in such melancholy retrospects. But 
Virginia is no more; yet those persons still live, whom, next to your- 
self, she held most dear; her mother, and your own : your inconsolable 
affliction is bringing them both to the grave. Place your happiness as 
she did hers, in affording them succor. My son, beneficence is the 
happiness of the virtuous: there is no greater or more certain enjoyment 
on the earth. Schemes of pleasure, repose, luxuries, wealth, and glory 
are not suited to man, weak, wandering, and transitory as he is. See 
how rapidly one step towards the acquisition of fortune has precipitated 
us all to the lowest abyss of misery! You were opposed to it it is true ; 
but who would not have thought that Virginia’s voyage would termin- 
ate in her happiness and your own ? an invitation from a rich and aged 
relation, the advice of a wise governor, the approbation of the whole 
colony, and the well-advised authority of her confessor, decided the lot 
of Virginia. Thus do we run to our ruin, deceived even by the pru- 
dence of those who watch over us: it would be better, no doubt, not to 
believe them, nor even to listen to the voice or lean on the hopes of a 
deceitful world. But all men, — those you see occupied in these plains, 
those who go abroad to seek their fortunes, and those in Europe who 
enjoy repose from the labors of others, are liable to reverse! not one is 
secure from losing, at some period, all that he most values, — greatness, 
wealth, wife, children, and friends. Most of these would have their 
sorrow increased by the remembrance of their own imprudence. But 
you have nothing with which you can reproach yourself. You have 
been faithful in your love. In the bloom of youth, by not departing 
from the dictates of nature, you evinced the wisdom of a sage. Your 
views were just, because they were pure, simple, and disinterested. You 
had, besides, on Virginia, sacred claims which nothing could counter- 
vail. You have lost her ; but it is neither your own imprudence, nor 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


85 

your avarice, nor your false wisdom which has occasioned this misfor- 
tune, but the will of God, who has employed the passions of others to 
snatch from you the object of your love; God, from whom you derive 
everything, who knows what is most fitting for you, and whose wisdom 
has not left you any cause for the repentance and despair which suc- 
ceed the calamities that are brought upon us by ourselves. 

“Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say to yourself ‘I have not de- 
served them. Is it then the calamity of Virginia — her death and her 
present condition that you deplore ? She has undergone the fate allotted 
to all ; to high birth, to beauty, and even to empires themselves. The 
.life of man, with all its projects, may be compared to a tower, at whose 
summit is death. When your Virginia was born, she was condemned 
to die; happily for herself, she is released from life before losing her 
imother, or yours, or you; saved, thus, from undergoing pangs worse 
than those of death itself. 

“Learn then, my son, that death is a benefit to all men : it is the night 
of that restless day we call by the name of life. ' The diseases, the 
griefs, the vexations, and the fears, which perpetually embitter our 
life as long as we possess it, molest us no more in the sleep of death. If 
you inquire into the history of those men who appear to have been the 
happiest, you will find that they have bought their apparent felicity very 
dear; public consideration, perhaps, by domestic evils ; the rare happi- 
ness of being beloved, by continual sacrifices: and often, at the expira- 
tion of a life devoted to the good of others, they see themselves sur- 
rounded only by false friends and ungrateful relations.) But Virginia 
was happy to her very last moment. When with us, she was happy in 
partaking of the gifts of nature; when far from us, she found enjoyment 
in the practice of virtue; and even at the terrible moment in which we 
saw her perish, she still had cause for self-gratulation, for, whether she 
cast her eyes on the assembled colony, made miserable by her expected 
loss, or on you, my son who, with so much intrepidity, were endeavoring 
to save her, she must have seen how dear she was to all. Her mind 
was fortified against the future by the remembrance of her innocent life ; 
and at that moment she received the reward which heaven reserves for 
virtue, — a courage superior to danger. She met death with a serene 
countenance. 

“My son! God gives all the trials of life to virtue, in order to show 
that virtue alone can support them, and even find in them happiness and 
glory. When he designs for it an illustrious reputation, he exhibits it op 


86 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


a wide theatre, and contending with death. Then does the courage of 
virtue shine forth as an example, and the misfortunes to which it has 
been exposed receive forever, from posterity, the tribute of their tears. 
This is the immortal monument reserved for virtue in a world where 
everything else passes away, and where the names, even of the greater 
number of kings themselves, are soon buried in eternal oblivion. 

“Meanwhile Virginia still exists. My son, you see that everything 
changes on this earth, but that nothing is ever lost. No art of man can 
annihiliate the smallest particle of matter; can, then, that which has 
possessed reason, sensibility affection, virtue and religion be supposed 
capable of destruction, when the very elements with which it is clothed 
are imperishable ? Ah ! however happy Virginia may have been with 
us, she is now much more so. There is a God, my son ; it is unneces- 
sary for me to prove it to you, for the voice of all nature loudly pro- 
claims it. The wickedness of mankind lead them to deny the existence 
of a Being, whose justice they fear. But your mind is fully convinced 
of his existence, while his works are ever before your eyes. Do you 
then believe that he would leave Virginia without recompense ? Do 
you think that the same Power which inclosed her noble soul in a form 
so beautiful, — so like an emanation from itself, could not have saved her 
from the waves ? — that he who has ordained the happiness of man here, 
by laws unknown to you, cannot prepare a still higher degree of felicity 
for Virginia by other laws, of which you are equally ignorant ? Before 
we were borne into this world, could we, do you imagine, even if we 
were capable of thinking at all, have formed any idea of our existence 
here ? And now that we are in the midst of this gloomy and transitory 
life, can we foresee what is beyond the tomb, or in what manner we 
shall be emancipated from it ? Does God, like man, need this little 
globe, the earth, as a theatre for the display of his intelligence and his 
goodness ? — and can he only dispose of human life in the territory of 
death ? — There is not, in the entire ocean, a single drop of water which 
is not peopled with living beings appertaining to man : and does their 
exist nothing for him in the heavens above his head ? What, is there 
no supreme intelligence, no divine goodness, except on this little spot 
where we are placed ? In those innumerable glowing fires, — in those 
infinite fields of light which surround them, and which neither storms 
nor darkness can extinguish, is there nothing but empty space and an 
eternal void ? If we, weak and ignorant as we are, might dare to as- 
sign limits to that Power from whom we have received everything, we 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


87 

might possible imagine that we were placed on the very confines of his 
empire, where life is perpetually struggling with death, and innocence 
forever in danger from the power of tyranny ! 

“Somewhere, then, without doubt, there is another world, where vir- 
tue will receive its reward. Virginia is now happy. Ah I if from the 
abode of angels she could hold communication with you, she would tell 
you, as she did when she bade you her last adieus, — ‘O, Paul ! life is but 
a scene of trial. I have been obedient to the laws of nature, love, and 
virtue. I crossed the seas to obey the will of my relations; I sacrificed 
• wealth in order to keep my faith; and I preferred the loss of life to 
disobeying the dictates of modesty. Heaven found that I had fulfilled 
my duties, and has snatched me forever from all the miseries I might 
have endured myself, and all I might have felt for the miseries of others. 
I am placed far above the reach of all human evils, and you pity me ! 
I am become pure and unchangeable as a particle of light, and you 
would recall me to the darkness of human life ! O, Paul ! O, my beloved 
friend! recollect those days of happiness, when in the morning we felt 
the delightful sensations excited by the unfolding beauties of nature ; 
when we seemed to rise with the sun to the peaks of those rocks, and 
then to spread with his rays over the bosom of the forests. We exper- 
ienced a delight, the cause of which we could not comprehend. In the 
innocence of our desires, we wished to be all sight, to enjoy the rich 
colors of the early dawn ; all smell, to taste a thousand perfumes at 
once; all hearing, to listen to the singing of our birds; and all hearts, 
to be capable of gratitude for those mingled blessings. Now, at the 
source of the beauty whence flows all that is delightful upon earth, my 
soul intuitively sees, tastes, hears, touches, what before she could only 
be made sensible of though the medium of our weak organs. Ah ! 
what language can describe these shores of eternal bliss, which I inhabit 
forever 1 All that infinite power and heavenly goodness could create 
to console the unhappy : all that the friendship of numberless beings, 
• exulting in the same facility can impart, we enjoy in unmixed perfection. 
Support, then, the trial which is not allotted to you, that you may 
heighten the happiness of your Virginia by love which will know no 
termination, — by a union which will be eternal. There I will calm 
your regrets, I will wipe away your tears. Oh, my, beloved friend ! my 
youthful husband ! raise your thoughts towards the infinite, to enable 
you to support the evils of a moment.’ ” 

My own emotion choked my utturance. Paul looking at me stead- 


88 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


fastly, cried, — “She is no more ! she is no more ! ” and a long fainting 
fit succeeded these words of woe. When restored to himself, he said, 
“Since death is a good, and since Virginia is happy, I will die too, and 
be united to Virginia.” Thus the motives of consolation I had offered, 
only served to nourish his despair. I was in the situation of a man who 
attempts to save a friend sinking in the midst of a flood, and who 
obstinately refuses to swim. Sorrow had completely overwelmed his 
soul. Alas ! the trials of early years prepare man for the afflictions of 
after-life; but Paul had never experienced any. 

I took him back to his own dwelling, where I found his mother and 
Madame de la Tour in a state of increased languour and exhaustion, 
but Margaret seemed to droop the most. Lively characters, upon 
whom petty troubles have but little effect, sink the soonest under great 
calamities. 

“O my good friend,” said Margaret, “I thought last night I saw Vir- 
ginia, dressed in white, in the midst of groves and delicious gardens. 
She said to me, ‘I enjoy the most perfect happiness:’ and then 
approaching Paul with a smiling air, she Jaore him away with her. 
While I was struggling to retain my son, I felt that I myself too was 
quitting the earth, and that I followed with inexpressible delight. I 
then wished to bid my friend farewell, when I saw that she was has- 
tening after me, accompanied by Mary and Domingo. But the strangest 
circumstance remains yet to be told ; Madame de la Tour has this very 
night had a dream exactly like mine in every possible respect.” 

“My dear friend,” I replied, “nothing, I firmly believe, happens in 
this world without the permission of God. Future events, too, are 
sometimes revealed in dreams.” 

Madame de la Tour then related to me her dream wich was exactly 
the same as Margaret’s in every particular; and as I had never observed 
in either of these ladies any propensity to superstition, I was struck with 
the singular coincidence of their dreams, and I felt convinced that they 
would soon be realized. The belief that future events are sometimes 
revealed to us during sleep, is one that is widely diffused among the 
nations of the earth. The greatest men of antiquity have had faith in 
it; among whom may be mentioned Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, 
the Scipios, the two Catos, and Brutus, none of whom were weak-mind- 
ed persons. Both the Old and the New Testament furnish us with 
numerous instances of dreams that came to pass. As for myself, I need 
only, on this subject, appeal to my experience, as I have more than once 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


89 

had good reason to believe that superior intelligences, who. interest 
themselves in our welfare, communicate with us in these visions of the 
night. Things which surpass the light of human reason cannot be 
proved by arguments derived from that reason; but still, if the mind of 
man is an image of that of God, since man can make known his will to 
the end of the earth by secret missives, may not the Supreme Intel- 
ligence which governs the universe employ similar means to attain a like 
end? One friend consoles another by a letter, which after passing 
through many kingdoms, and being in the hands of various individuals 
at enmity with each other, brings at last joy and hope to the breast of a 
single human being. May not in like manner the Sovereign Protector 
of innocence come in some secret way, to the help of a virtuous soul, which 
puts its trust in him alone ? Has he occasion to employ visible means 
to effect his purpose in this, whose ways are hidden in all his ordinary 
works ? 

Why should we doubt the evidence of dreams? for what is our life, 
occupied as it is with vain and fleeting imaginations, other than a pro- 
longed vision of the night ? 

Whatever may be thought of this in general, on the present occasion 
the dreams of my friends were soon realized. Paul expired two months 
after the death of his Virginia, whose name dwelt on his lips in his 
expiring moments. About a week after the death of her son, Margaret saw 
her last hour approach with that serenity which virtue only can feel. She 
bade Madame de la Tour, a most tender farewell, “in the certain hope,” 
she said, “of d delightful and eternal re union. Death is the greatest of 
blessings to us,” added she, “and we ought to desire it. If life be a 
punishment, we should wish for its termination; if it be a trial, we 
should be thankful that it is short.” 

The governor took care of Domingo and Mary, who were no longer 
able to labor, and who survived their mistresses but a short time. As 
for poor Fidele, he pined to death, soon after he lost his master. 

I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to Madame de la Tour, who 
bore up under her calamities with incredible elevation of mind. She 
had endeavored to console Paul and Margaret till their last moments, as 
if she herself had no misfortunes of her own to bear. When they 
were no more, she used to talk to me every day of them as of beloved 
friends, who were still living near her. She survived them, however, 
but one month. Far from reproaching her aunt for the afflictions she 
had caused, her benign spirit prayed to God to pardon her, and to 


9 o 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


appease .that remorse which we heard began to torment her, as soon as 
she had sent Virginia away with so much inhumanity. 

Conscience, that certain punishment of the guilty, visited with all its 
terrors the mind of this unnatural relation. So great was her torment, 
that life and death became equally insupportable to her. Sometimes 
she reproached herself with the untimely fate of her lovely niece, and 
with the death of her mother, which had immediately followed it. At 
other times she congratulated herself for having repulsed far from her 
two wretched creatures, who, she said, had both dishonored their family 
by their grovelling inclinations. Sometimes, at the sight of the many 
miserable objects with which Paris abounds, she would fly into a rage, 
and exclaim, — “Why are not these idle people sent off to the colonies?” 
As for the notions of humanity, virtue, and religion, adopted by all 
nations, she said, they were only the inventions of their rulers, to serve 
political purposes. Then, flying all at once to the other extreme, she 
abandoned herself to superstitious terrors, which filled her with mortal 
fears. She would then give abundant alms to the wealthy ecclesiastics 
who governed her, beseeching them to appease the wrath of God by 
the sacrifice of her fortune, — as if the offering to Him of the wealth 
she had withheld from the miserable could please her Heavenly 
Father ! In her imagination she often beheld fields of fire, with burn- 
ing mountains, wherein hideous spectres wandered about, loudly calling 
on her by name. She threw herself at her confessor’s feet, imagining ev- 
ery description of agony and torture ; for Heaven — just Heaven, always 
sends to the cruel the most frightful views of religion and a future state. 

Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, holding both life and death in equal 
horror, she lived on for several years. But what completed the torments 
of her miserable existence, was that very object to which she had 
sacrificed every natural affection. She was deeply annoyed at perceiving 
that her fortune must go, at her death, to relations whom she hated, and 
she determined to alienate as much of it as she could. They, however, 
taking advantage of her frequent attacks of low spirits, caused her to be 
secluded as a lunatic, and her affairs to be put into the hands of trustees. 
Her wealth, thus completed her ruin ; and, as the possession of it had 
hardened her own heart, so did its anticipation corrupt the hearts of 
those who coveted it from her. At length she died, and to crown her 
misery, she retained reason enough at last to be sensible that she was 
plundered and despised by the very persons whose opinions had been 
her rule of conduct during her whole life. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


91 


On the same spot, and at the foot of the same shrubs as his Virginia, 
was deposited the body of Paul; and round about them lie the remains 
of their tender mothers and their faithful servants. No marble marks 
the spot of their humble graves, no inscription records their virtues ; 
but their memory is engraven upon the hearts of those whom they have 
befriended, in indellible characters. Their spirits have no need of the 
pomp, which they shunned during their life ; but if they still take an 
interest in what passes upon earth, they no doubt love to wander beneath 
the roofs of these humble dwellings, inhabited by industrious virtue, to 
console poverty discontented with its lot, to cherish in the hearts of 
lovers the sacred flame of fidelity, and to inspire a taste for the 
blessings of nature, a love of honest labor, and a dread of the allure- 
ments of riches. 

The voice of the people, which is often silent with regard to the 
monuments raised to kings, has given to some parts of this island names 
which will immortalize the loss of Virginia. Near the isle of Amber, 
in the midst of sandbanks, is ,a spot called The Pass of the Saint Geran, 
from the name of the vessel which was there lost. The extremity of 
that point of land which you see yonder, three leagues off, half covered 
with water, and which the Saint Geran could not double the night 
before the hurricane, is called the Cape of Misfortune ; and before us, 
at the end of the valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, where Virginia was 
found buried in the sand; as if the waves had sought to restore her 
.corpse to her family, that they might render it the last sad duties on 
those shores where so many years of her innocent life had been passed 

Joined thus in death, ye faithful lovers, who were so tenderly united ! 
unfortunate mothers ! beloved family ! these woods which sheltered you 
with their foliage, — these fountains which flowed for you, — these hill- 
sides upon which you reposed, still deplore your loss! No one has 
presumed to cultivate that desolate spot of land, or to rebuild those 
humble cottages. Your goats are become wild : your orchards are 
destroyed ; your birds are all fled, and nothing is heard but the cry of 
the sparrow hawk, as it skims in quest of prey around this rocky basin. 
As for myself, since I have ceased to behold you, I have felt friendless 
and alone, like a father bereft of his children, or a traveller who wan- 
ders by himself over the face of the earth.” 

Ending with these words, the good old man retired, bathed in tears ; 
and my own, too, flowed more than once during this melancholy recital. 

THE END. 
































RASSELAS 


Prince of Abyssinia. 


BY 

SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. 


FRANKLIN NEWS COMPANY, 


PHILADELPHIA. 
















































































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RASSELAS. 


CHAPTER I. 

DESCRIPTION OF A PALACE IN A VALLEY. 

Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, 
and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope ; who 
expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and 
that deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by 
the morrow ; attend to the history of Rasselas, prince 
of Abyssinia. 

Rasselas was the fourth son of the mighty emperor, in 
whose dominions the Father of Waters begins his course; 
whose bounty pours down the stream of plenty, and 
scatters over half the world the harvests of Egypt. 

According to the custom which has descended from 
age to age among the monarchs of the torid zone, Ras- 
selas was confined in a private palace, with the other 
sons and daughters of Abyssinian royalty, till the order 
of succession should call him to the throne. 

The place, which the wisdom or policy of antiquity 
had destined for the residence of the Abyssinian princes, 
was a spacious valley in the kingdom of Amhara, sur- 
rounded on every side by mountains, of which the sum- 
mits overhang the middle part. The only passage by 
which it could be entered was a cavern that passed under 
a rock, of which it has long been disputed whether it 
was the work of nature or of human industry. The out- 
94 


4 


1? ASS EL, IS. 


let of the cavern was concealed by a thick wood, and the 
mouth which opened into the valley was closed with 
gates of iron forged by artificers of ancient days, so 
massy that no man could without the help of engines 
open or shut them. 

From the mountains on very side, rivulets descended 
that filled all the valley with verdure and fertility, and 
formed a lake in the middle, inhabited by fish of every 
species, and frequented by every fowl that nature has 
taught to dip the wing in water. This lake discharged 
its superfluities by a stream which entered a dark cleft of 
the mountain on the northern side, and fell with dreadful 
noise from precipice to precipice till it was heard no 
more. 

The sides of the mountains were covered with trees, 
the banks of the brooks were diversified with flowers ; 
every blast shook spices from the rocks, and every 
month dropped fruits upon the ground. All animals that 
bite the grass or browse upon the shrub, whether wild or 
tame, wandered in this extensive circuit, secured from 
beasts of prey by the mountains which confined them. 
On one part were flocks and herds feeding in the pastures, 
on another all the beasts of the chase frisking in the 
lawns ; the sprightly kid was bounding on rocks, the 
subtle monkey frolicking in the trees, and the solemn 
elephant reposing in the shade. All the diversities of 
the world were brought together, the blessings of nature 
were collected, and its evils extracted and excluded. 

The valley, wide and fruitful, supplied its inhabitants 
with the necessaries of life, and all delights and super- 
fluities were added at the annual visit which the emperor 
paid his children, when the iron gate was opened to the 
sound of music; and during eight days everyone that 
resided in the valley was required to propose whatever 
95 


XASSELAS: 


5 

might contribute to make seclusion pleasant, to fill up 
the vacancies of attention, and lessen the tediousness 
of time. Every desire was immediately granted. All 
the artifices of pleasure were called to gladden the festiv- 
ity ; the musicians exerted the power of harmony, and 
the dancers showed their activity before the princes, in 
hope that they should pass their lives in this blissful 
captivity ; to which those only were admitted whose per- 
formance was thought able to add novelty to luxury. 
Such was the appearance of security and delight which 
this retirement afforded, that they, to whom it was new, 
always desired that it might be perpetual; and as those, 
on whom the iron gate had once closed, were never suf- 
fered to return, the effect of longer experience could not 
be known. Thus every year produced new schemes of 
delight, and new competitors for imprisonment. 

The palace stood on an eminence raised about thirty 
paces above the surface of the lake. It was divided.into 
many squares or courts, built with greater or less mag- 
nificence, according to the rank of those for whom they 
were designed. The roofs were turned into arches of 
massy stone, joined by a cement that grew harder by 
time, and the building stood from century to century 
deriding the solstitial rains and equinoctial hurricanes, 
without need of reparation. 

This house, which was so large as to be fully known to 
none but some ancient officers who successively inherited 
the secrets of the place, was built as if suspicion herself 
had dictated the plan. To every room there was an open 
and secret passage, every square had a communication 
with the rest, either from the upper stories by private 
galleries, or by subterranean passages from the lower 
apartments. Many of the columns had unsuspected 
cavities, in which a long race of monareks bad 3eposite4 
9 $ 


6 


XASSELAS. 


their treasures. The}’' then closed up the opening with 
marble, which was never to be removed but in the utmost 
exigencies of the kingdom; and recorded their accumula- 
tions in a book, which was itself concealed in a tower not 
entered but by the emperor attended by the prince who 
stood next in succession. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE DISCONTENT OF RASSELAS IN THE HAPPY VALLEY. 

Here the sons and daughters of Abyssinia lived only 
to know the soft vicissitude of pleasure and repose, and 
attended by all that was skilful to delight, and gratified 
with whatever the senses can enjoy. They wandered in 
gardens of fragrance, and slept in the fortresses of secur- 
ity. Every art was practiced to make them pleased with 
their own condition. The sages who instructed them 
told them of nothing but the miseries of public life, and 
described all beyond the mountains as regions of calam- 
ity, where discord was always raging, and where man 
preyed upon man. 

To heighten their opinion of their own felicity, they 
were daily entertained with songs, the subject of which 
was the happy valley. Their appetites were excited by 
frequent enumerations of different enjoyments; and rev- 
elry and merriment were the business of every hour from 
the dawn of morning to the close of even. 

These methods were generally successful: few of the 
princes had ever wished to enlarge their bounds, but 
passed their lives in full conviction that they had all 
within their reach that art or nature could bestow, and 
pitied those whom fate had excluded from this seat of 
tranquility as the sport of chance and the slaves of 
misery. 

97 


RASSELAS. 


7 

Thus they rose in the morning and lay down at night, 
pleased with each other and with themselves; all but 
Rasselas, who in the twenty-sixth year of his age began 
to withdraw himself from their pastimes and assemblies, 
and to delight in solitary walks and silent meditation. 
He often sat before tables covered with luxury, and for- 
got to taste the dainties that were placed before him ; he 
rose abruptly in the midst of the song and hastily retired 
beyond the sound of music. His attendants observed 
the change, and endeavored to renew his love of pleasure ; 
he neglected their officiousness, and repulsed their invit- 
ations, and spent day after day on the banks of rivulets 
sheltered with trees, where he sometimes listened to the 
birds in the branches, sometimes observed the fish playing 
in the stream, and anon cast his eyes upon the pastures 
and mountains filled with animals, of which some were 
biting the herbage, and some sleeping among the bushes. 

This singularity of his humor made him much observ- 
ed. One of the sages, in whose conversation he had 
formerly delighted, followed him secretly, in hope of dis- 
covering the cause of his disquiet. Rasselas, who knew 
not that any one was near him, having for some time 
fixed his eyes upon the goats that were browsing among 
the rocks, began to compare their condition with his own. 

“What,” said he, “makes the difference between man 
and all the rest of the animal creation? Every beast that 
strays beside me has the same corporeal necessities with 
myself; he is hungry and crops the grass, he is thirsty 
and drinks the stream, his thirst and hunger are appeased, 
he is satified and sleeps ; he rises again and is hungry, 
he is again fed and is at rest. I am hungry and thirsty 
like him, but when thirst and hunger cease I am not at 
rest; I am, like him, pained with want, but am not, like 
him, satisfied with fullness. The intermediate hours are 


f 


XASSELAS. 


* 

tedious and gloomy ; I long again to be hungry, that I may 
again quicken my attention. The birds pick the berries 
or the corn, and fly away to the groves, where they sit in 
seeming happiness on the branches, and waste their lives 
in tuning one unvaried series of sounds. I likewise can 
call the lutanist and the singer, but the sounds that 
pleased me yesterday weary me to*day, and will grow yet 
more wearisome to-morrow. I can discover within me 
no power of perception which is not glutted with its 
proper pleasure, yet I do not feel myself delighted. Man 
Surely has some latent sense for which this place affords 
no gratification; or he has some desires, distinct from 
setise, which must be satisfied before he can be happy.” 

After this he lifted up his head, and, seeing the moon 
rising, walked towards the palace. As he passed through 
the fields, and saw the animals around him, “Ye,” said 
he, “are happy, and need not envy me that walk thus 
among you, burdened with myself; nor do I, ye gentle 
beings, envy your felicity, for it is not the felicity of man. 
I have many distresses from which ye are free: I fear 
pain when I do not feel it; I sometimes shrink at evils 
recollected, and sometimes start at evils anticipated. 
Surely the equity of Providence has balanced peculiar 
sufferings with peculiar enjoyments.” 

With observations like these the prince amused himself 
as he returned; uttering them with a plaintive voice, yet 
with a look that discovered him to feel some complacence 
in his own perspicacity, and to receive some solace of 
the miseries of life from consciouness of the delicacy 
with which he felt, and the eloquence with which he 
bewailed them. He mingled cheerfully in the diversions 
of the evening, and all rejoiced to find that his heart was 
lightened. 


99 


RASSELAS. 


9 


CHAPTER III. 

THE WANTS OP HIM THAT WANTS NOTHING. 

On the next day his old instructor, imagining that he 
had now made himself acquainted with his disease of 
mind, was in hope of curing it by counsel, and officiously 
sought an opportunity of conference ; which the prince, 
having long considered him as one whose intellects were 
exhausted, was not very willing to afford : “ Why,” said 
he, “ does this man thus intrude upon me ; shall I be 
never suffered to forget those lectures which pleased only 
while they were new, and to become new again must be 
forgotten?” He then walked into the wood, and com- 
posed himself to his usual meditations ; when, before his 
thoughts had taken any settled form, he perceived his 
pursuer at his side, and was at first prompted by his im- 
patience to go hastily away ; but being unwilling to of- 
fend a man whom he had once reverenced and still loved, 
he invited him to sit down with him on the bank. 

The old man, thus encourged, began to lament the 
change which had been lately observed in the prince, and 
to inquire why he so often retired from the pleasures of 
the palace, to loneliness and silence? “ I fly from pleas- 
ures,” said the prince, “ because pleasure has ceased 
to please; I am lonely because I am miserable, and am 
unwilling to cloud with my presence the happiness of 
others.” “You, sir,” said the sage, “ are the first who 
has complained of misery in the happy valley. I hope to 
convince you that your complaints have no real cause. 
You are here in full possession of all that the emperor 
of Abyssinia can bestow ; here is neither labor to be en- 
dured nor danger to be dreaded, yet here is all that labor 
or danger can procure or purchase. Look round and 
ioo 


to 


RASSELAS. 


tell me which of your wants is without supply ; if you 
want nothing how are you unhappy ?” 

“ That I want nothing,” said the prince, “ nor that I 
know not what I want, is the cause of my complaint. If 
I had any known want, I should have a certain wish ; 
that wish would excite endeavor, and I should not then 
repine to see the sun move so slowly towards the western 
mountain, or lament when the day breaks, and sleep will 
no longer hide me from myself. When I see the kids and 
lambs chasing one another, I fancy that I should be 
happy if I had something to pursue. But, possessing all 
that I can want, I find one day and one hour exactly like 
another, except that the latter is still more tedious than 
the former. Let your experience inform me how the day 
may seem as short as in my childhood, while nature was: 
yet fresh, and every moment showed me what I never 
had observed before. I have already enjoyed too much 
give me something to desire.” 

The old man was surprised at this new species of af- 
fliction, and knew not what to reply, yet was unwilling; 
to be silent. “Sir,” said he, “if you had seen the; 
miseries of the world, you would know how to value your 
present state.” “Now” said the prince, “you have 
given me something to desire ; I shall long to see the 
miseries of the world, since the sight of them is necessary 
to happiness.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE PRINCE CONTINUES TO GRIEVE AND MUSE. 

At this time the sound of music proclaimed the hour 
of repast, and the conversation was concluded. The old 
man went away sufficiently discontented to find that his 
reasonings had produced the only conclusion which thev 

IOI * 


RASSELAS. 


i 


were intended to prevent. But in the decline of life 
shame and grief are of short duration — whether it be that 
we bear easily what we have borne long ; or that, finding 
ourselves in age less regarded, we less regard others ; or, 
that we look with slight regard upon afflictions to which 
we know that the hand of death is about to put an end. 

The prince, whose views were extended to a wider 
space, could not speedily quiet his emotions. He had 
been before terrified at the length of life which nature 
promised him, because he considered that in a long time 
much must be endured ; he now rejoiced in his youth, 
because in many years much might be done. 

This first beam of hope that had been ever darted into 
his mind, rekindled youth in his cheeks, and doubled the 
lustre of his eyes. He was fired with the desire of doing 
something, though he knew not }^et with distinctness 
either end or means. 

He was now no longer gloomy and unsocial ; but, con- 
sidering himself as master of a secret stock of happiness, 
which he could enjoy only by concealing it, he affected 
to be busy in all schemes of diversion, and endeavored to 
make others pleased with the state of which he himself 
was weary. But pleasures never can be so multiplied or 
continued as not to leave much of life unemployed ; there 
were many hours, both of the night and day, which he 
could spend without suspicion in solitary thought. The 
load of life was much lightened ; he went eagerly into 
the assemblies, because he supposed the frequency of his 
presence necessary to the success of his purposes; he re- 
tired gladly to privacy, because he had now a subject of 
thought. 

His chief amusement was to picture to himself that 
world which he had never seen ; to place himself in various 

conditions ; to be entangled in imaginary difficulties, and 
102 


12 


RASSELAS. 


to be engaged in wild adventures ; but his benevolence 
alwaj^s terminated his projects in the relief of distress, 
the detection of fraud, the defeat of oppression, and the 
diffusion of happiness. 

Thus passed twenty _ months of the life of Rasselas. 
He busied himself so intensely in visionary bustle that 
he forgot his real solitude; and, amidst hourly prepara- 
tions for the various incidents of human affairs, neglected 
to consider by what means he should mingle with man- 
kind. 

One day, as he was sitting on a bank, he feigned to 
himself an orphan virgin robbed of her little portion by 
a treacherous lover, and crying after him for restitution 
and redress. So strongly was the image impressed upon 
his mind that he started up in the maid’s defence, and 
ran forward to seize the plunderer, with all the eagerness 
of real pursuit. Fear naturally quickens the flight of 
guilt. Rasselas could not catch the fugitive with his ut- 
most efforts ; but, resolving to weary, by perseverance, 
him whom he could not surpass in speed, he pressed on 
till the foot of the mountain stopped his course. 

Here he recollected himself, and smiled at his own use- 
less impetuosity. Then, raising his eyes to the mountain, 
“ This,” said he, “ is the fatal obstacle that hinders at 
once the enjoyment of pleasure and the exercise of vir- 
tue. How long is it that my hopes and wishes have 
flown beyond this boundary of my life, which yet I never 
have attempted to surmount!” 

Struck with this reflection, he sat down to muse, and 
remember, that since he first resolved to escape from his 
confinement, the sun had passed twice over him in his 
annual course. He now felt a degree of regret with which 
he had never been before acquainted. He considered how 
much might have been done in the time which had passed, 

i°3 


XASSELAS. 


13 

and left nothing real behind it. He compared twenty 
months with the life of man. “In life,” said he, “is not 
to be counted the ignorance of infancy, or imbecility of 
age. We are long before we are able to think, and we 
soon cease from the power of acting. The true period 
of human existence may be reasonably estimated at forty 
years, of which I have mused away the four and twen- 
tieth part. What I have lost was certain, for I have cer- 
tainly possessed it; but of twenty months to come who 
can assure me?” 

The consciousness of his own folly pierced him deeply, 
and it was long before he could be reconciled to himself. 
“The rest of my time,” said he, “has been lost by the 
crime or folly of my ancestors and the absurd institution 
of my country ; I remember it with disgust, yet without 
remorse: but the months that have passed since new 
light darted into my soul, since I formed a scheme of 
reasonable felicity, have been squandered by my own fault. 
I have lost that which can never be restored ; I have seen 
the sun rise and set for twenty months, an idle gazer on 
the light of heaven : in this time the birds have left the 
nest of their mother, and committed themselves to the 
woods and to the skies: the kid has forsaken the teat, 
and learned by degrees to climb the rocks in quest of in- 
dependent sustenance. I onty have made no advances, 
but am still helpless and ignorant. The moon, by more 
than twenty changes, admonished me of the flux of life; 
the stream that rolled before my feet upbraided my in- 
activity. I sat feasting on intellectual luxury, regardless 
alike of the examples of the earth, of the instructions of 
the planets. Twenty months are passed ; who shall res- 
tore them?” 

These sorrowful meditations fastened upon his mind ; 
he passed four months in resolving to lose no more time 
104 


RASSELAS. 


*4 

in idle resolves; and was awakened to more vigorous 
exertion by hearing a maid, who had broken a porcelain 
cup, remark that what cannot be repaired is not to be 
regretted. 

This was obvious; and Rasselas reproached himself 
that he had not discovered it, having not known or not 
considered how many useful hints are obtained by chance, 
and how often the mind, hurried by her own ardor to 
distant views, neglects the truths that lie open before her. 
He for a few hours regretted his regret, and from that 
time bent his whole mind upon the means of escaping 
from the valley of happiness. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE PRINCE MEDITATES HIS ESCAPE. 

He now found that it would be very difficult to effect 
that which it was very easy to suppose effected. When 
he looked round about him, he saw himself confined by 
the bars of nature, which had never yet been broken, and 
by the gate, through which none that once had passed it 
were ever able to return. He was now impatient as an 
eagle in the grate. He passed week after week in clam- 
bering the mountains, to see if there was any aperture 
which the bushes might conceal, but found all the sum- 
mits inaccessible by their prominence. The iron gate he 
despaired to open ; for it was not only secured by all the 
powers of art, but was always watched by successive 
sentinels, and was by its position exposed to the per- 
petual observation of all the inhabitants. 

He then examined the cavern through which the waters 
of the lake were discharged ; and, looking down at a 
time when the sun shone strongly upon its mouth, he dis- 
covered it to be full of broken rocks, which, though they 


RASSELAS. 


>5 

permitted the stream to flow through many narrow pas- 
sages, would stop anybody of solid bulk. He returned 
discouraged and dejected ; but having now known the 
blessing of hope, resolved never to despair. 

In these fruitless searches he spent ten months. The 
:time, however, passed cheerfully away ; in the morning 
be rose with new hope, in the evening applauded his 
.own diligence, and in the night slept sound after his 
fatigue. He met a thousand amusements which beguiled 
bis labor and diversified his thoughts. He discerned the 
various instincts of animals and properties of plants, 
and found the place replete with wonders, of which he 
purposed to solace himself with the contemplation, if he 
should never be able to accomplish his flight ; rejoicing 
that his endeavors, though yet unsuccessful, had supplied 
bim with a source of inexhaustible inquiry. 

But his original curiosity was not yet abated ; he re- 
solved to obtain some knowledge of the ways of men. 
His wish still continued, but his hope grew less. He 
ceased to survey any longer the walls of his prison, and 
spared to search by new toils for interstices which he 
bnew could not be found, yet determined to keep his de- 
sign always in view, and lay hold on any expedient that 
time should offer. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A DISSERTATION ON THE ART OF FLYING. 

Among the artists that had been allured into the happy 
valley, to labor for the accommodation and pleasure of its 
inhabitants, was a man eminent for his knowledge of the 
mechanic powers, who had contrived many engines both 
of use and recreation. By a wheel which the stream 
turned he forced the water into a tower, whence it was 
106 


i6 


RASSELAS. 


distributed to all the apartments of the palace. He erect- 
ed a pavilion in the garden, around which he kept the 
air always cool by artificial showers. One of the groves, 
appropriated to the ladies, was ventilated by fans, to 
which the rivulet that ran through it gave a constant 
motion; the instruments of soft music were placed at 
proper distances, of which some played by the impulse of 
the wind, and some by the power of the stream. 

This artist was sometimes visited by Rasselas, who was 
pleased with every kind of knowledge, imagining that the 
time would come when all his acquisitions should be of 
use to him in the open world. He came one day to 
amuse himself in his usual manner, and found the master 
busy in building a sailing chariot: he saw that the design 
was practicable upon a level surface, and with expressions 
of great esteem solicited its completion. The workman 
was pleased to find himself so much regarded by the 
prince, and resolved to gain yet higher honors. “Sir,” 
said he, “you have seen but a small part of what the 
mechanic sciences can perform. I have been long of 
opinion, that, instead of the tardy conveyance of ships 
and chariots, man might use the swifter migration of 
wings; that the fields of air are open to knowledge and that 
only ignorance and idleness need crawl upon the ground.” 

This hint rekindled the prince’s desire of passing the 
mountains : having seen what the mechanist had already 
performed, he was willing to fancy that he could do more ; 
yet resolved to inquire further, before he suffered hope 
to afflict him by disappointment. “I am afraid,” said he 
to the artist, “that your imagination prevails over your 
skill, and that you now tell me rather what you wish than 
what you know. Every animal has his element assigned 
him ; the birds have the air, and man and beasts the 

earth.” “So,” replied the mechanist, “fishes have the 
107 


RASSELAS. 


17 

water, in which yet beasts can swim by nature, and men 
by art. He that can swim needs not despair to fly ; to 
swim is to fly in a grosser fluid, and to fly is to swim in 
a subtler. We are only to proportion our power of resis- 
tance to the different density of matter through which 
we are to pass. You will be necessarily upborne by the 
air, if you can renew any impulse upon it faster than the 
air can recede from the pressure.” 

“But the exercise of swimming,” said the prince, “is 
very laborious ; the strongest limbs are soon wearied ; I 
am afraid the act of flying will be yet more violent; and 
wings will be of no great use unless we can fly further 
than we can swim.” 

“The labor of rising from the ground,” said the artist, 
“will be great, as we see it in the heavier domestic fowls, 
but as we mount higher, the earth’s attraction and the 
body’s gravity will be gradually diminished, till we shall 
arrive at a region where the man will float in the air 
without any tendency to fall; no care will then be neces- 
sary but to move forwards, which the gentlest impulse 
will effect. You, sir, whose curiosity is so extensive, 
will easily conceive with what pleasure a philosopher, 
furnished with wings, and hovering in the sky, would 
see the earth and all its inhabitants rolling beneath him, 
and presenting to him successive^’, by its diurnal mo- 
tion, all the countries within the same parallel. How 
must it amuse the pendent spectators to see the moving 
scene of land and ocean, cities and deserts! To survey 
with equal serenity the marts of trade and the fields of 
battles; mountains infested by barbarians, and fruitful 
regions gladdened by plenty and lulled by peace ! How 
easily shall we then trace the Nile through all his pass- 
age ; pass over to distant regions, and examine the face 
pf nature from one extremity to the other!” 


RASSELAS. 


i Sr 

“AU this/’ said the prince, “is much to be desired; but 
I am afraid that no man will be able to breathe in these 
regions of speculation and tranquility. I have been told 
that respiration is difficult upon lofty mountains, yet 
from these precipices, though so high as to produce great 
tenuity of air, it is very easy to fall ; therefore I suspect, 
that, from any height, where life can be supported, there 
ma}' be danger of too quick descent.” 

“Nothing,” replied the artist, “will ever be attempted, 
if all possible objections must be first overcome. If you 
will favor my project, I will try the first flight at my own 
hazard. I have considered the structure of all volant 
animals, and find the folding continuity of the bat’s 
wings most easily accommodated to the human form. 
Upon this model I shall begin my task to morrow, and in 
a year expect to tower in the air beyond the malice and 
pursuit of man. But I will work only on this con- 
dition, that the art shall not be divulged, and that you 
shall not require me to make wings for any but ourselves.” 

“Why,” said Rasselas, “should you envy others so 
great an advantage ? All skill ought to be exerted for 
universal good; every man has owed much to others, and 
ought to repay the kindness that he has received.” 

“If men were all virtuous,” returned the artist, “I 
should with great alacrity teach them all to fly. But 
what would be the security of the good, if the bad could 
at pleasure invade them from the sky ? Against an army 
sailing through the clouds, neither walls, nor mountains, 
nor seas could afford any security. A flight of northern 
savages might hover in the wind, and light at once with 
irresistible violence upon the capital of a fruitful region 
that was rolling under them. Even this valley, the 
retreat of princes, the abode of happiness, might be vio- 
lated by the sudden descent of some of the naked 
109 


RASSELAS. 19 

nations that swarm on the coast of the southern sea.” 

The prince promised secrecy, and waited for the per- 
formance, not wholly hopeless of success. He visited 
the work from time to time, observed its progress, and 
remarked many ingenious contrivances to facilitate 
motion, and unite levity with strength. The artist was 
every da} r more certain that he should leave vultures and 
eagles behind him, and the contagion of his confidence 
seized upon the prince. 

In a year the wings were finished ; and, on a morning 
appointed, the maker appeared furnished for flight on a 
little promontory : he waved his pinions awhile to gather 
air, then leaped from his stand, and in an instant drop- 
ped into the lake. His wings, which were of no use in 
the air, sustained him in the water, and the prince drew 
him to land, half dead with terror and vexation. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE PRINCE FINDS A MAN OF LEARNING. 

The prince was not much afflicted by this disaster, 
having suffered himself to hope for a happier event, only 
because he had no other means of escape in view. He 
still persisted in his design to leave the happy valley by 
the first opportunity. 

His imagination was now at a stand ; he had no pros- 
pect of entering into the world ; and, notwithstanding all 
his endeavors to support himself, discontent by degrees 
preyed upon him, and he began again to lose his thoughts 
in sadness, when the rainy season, which in these countries 
is periodical, made it inconvenient to wander in the 
woods. 

The rain continued longer and with more violence than 
had ever been known ; the clouds broke on the surround- 
no 


20 


RASSELAS. 


ing mountains, and the torrents streamed into the plain 
on every side, till the cavern was too narrow to discharge 
the water. The lake overflowed its banks, and all the 
level of the valley was covered with the inundation. The 
eminence on which the palace was built, and some other 
spots of rising ground, were all that the eye could now 
discover. The herds and flocks left the pastures, and 
both the wild and the tame retreated to the mountains. 

This inundation confined all the princes to domestic 
amusement, and the attention of Rasselas was partic- 
ularly seized by a poem, which Imlac rehearsed upon the 
various conditions of humanity. He commanded the 
poet to attend him in his apartment, and recite his verses 
a second time; then entering into familiar talk, he 
thought himself happy in having found a man who knew 
the world so well, and could so skilfully paint the scenes 
of life. He asked a thousand questions about things, to 
which, though common to all other mortals, his confine- 
ment from childhood had kept him a stranger. The poet 
pitied his ignorance and loved his curiosity, and enter- 
tained him from day to day with novelty and instruction, 
so that the prince regretted the necessity of sleep, and 
longed till the morning should renew his pleasure. 

As they were sitting together the prince commanded 
Imlac to relate his history, and tell him by what accident 
he was forced, or by what motive induced, to close his 
life in the happy valley. As he was going to begin the 
narrative, Rasselas was called to a concert, and obliged 
to restrain his curiosity till the evening. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE HISTORY OP IMLAC. 

The close of day is, in the regions of the torrid zone, 

the only season of diversion and entertainment, and it 

hi 


KASSEL AS. 


2 1 


was therefore midnight before the music ceased, and the 
princes retired. Rasselas then called for his companion 
and required him to begin the story of his life. 

“Sir,” said Imlac, “my history will not be long; the 
life that is devoted to knowledge passes silently away, 
and is very little diversified by events. To talk in pub- 
lic, to think in solitude, to read and to hear, to inquire 
and answer inquiries, is the business of a scholar. He 
wanders about the world without pomp or terror, and is 
neither known nor valued but by men like himself. 

“I was born in the kingdom of Goiama, at no great 
distance from the fountain of the Nile. My father was a 
wealthy merchant, who traded between the inland coun- 
tries of Africa and the ports of the Red Sea. He was 
honest, frugal, and diligent, but of mean sentiments and 
narrow comprehension: he desired only to be rich, and 
to conceal his riches, lest he should be spoiled by the 
governors of the province.” 

“Surely.” said the prince, “my father must be negligent 
of his charge, if any man in his dominions dares take 
that which belongs to another. Does he not know that 
kings are accountable for injustice permitted as well as 
done ? If I were emperor, not the meanest of my subjects 
should be oppressed with impunity. My blood boils 
when I am told that a merchant durst not enjoy his horn 
est gains for fear of losing them by the rapacity of power. 
Name the governor who robbed the people that I may 
declare his crimes to the emperor.” 

“Sir,” said Imlac, “your ardor is the natural effect of 
virtue animated by youth : the time will come when you 
will acquit your father, and perhaps hear with less im- 
patience of the governor. Oppression is, in the Abys- 
sinian dominions, neither frequent nor tolerated : but no 
form of government has yet been discovered, by which 
1 12 


22 


KASSEL AS. 


cruelty can be wholly prevented. Subordination sup- 
presses power on the one part, and subjection on the 
other, and if power be in the hands of men, it will some- 
times be abused. The vigilance of the supreme magistrate 
may do much, but will still remain undone. He can 
never know all the crimes that are commited, and can 
seldom punish all that he knows.” 

“This,” said the prince, “I do not understand, but I 
had rather hear thee than dispute. Continue thy nar- 
ration.” 

“My father,” proceeded Imlac, “originally intended 
that I should have no other education than such as might 
qualify me for commerce; and, discovering in me great 
strength of memory and quickness of apprehension, often 
declared his hope that I should sometime be the richest 
man in Abyssinia.” 

“Why,” said the prince, “did thy father desire the 
increase of his wealth, when it was already greater than 
he durst discover or enjoy? I am unwilling to doubt 
thy veracity, yet inconsistencies cannot both be true.” 

“Inconsistencies,” answered Imlac, “cannot both be 
right; but, imputed to man, they may both be true. Yet 
diversity is not inconsistency. My father might expect 
a time of greater security. However, some desire is 
necessary to keep life in motion; and he whose real wants 
are supplied must admit those of fancy.” 

“This,” said the prince, “I can in some measure con- 
ceive. I repent that I interruped thee.” 


“With this hope,” proceeded Imlac, “he sent me to 
school; but when I had once found the delight of know- 
ledge, and felt the pleasure of intelligence and the pride 
of invention, I began silently to despise riches, and 
determined to disappoint the purpose of my father, whose 
grossness of conception raised my pity. I was twenty 


RASSELAS . 


23 

years old before his tenderness would expose me to the 
fatigue of travel, in which time I had been instructed, by 
successive masters, in all the literature of my native 
country. As every hour taught me something new, I 
lived in a continual course of gratifications; but as I ad- 
vanced toward manhood I lost much of the reverence 
with which I had been used to look on my instructors: 
because, when the lessons were ended, I did not find them 
wiser or better than common men. 

“At length my father resolved to initiate me in com. 
merce: and, opening one of his subterranean treasuries, 
counted out ten thousand pieces of gold. ‘This, young 
man,’ said he, ‘is the stock with which you must nego- 
tiate. I began with less than the fifth part, and you see 
how diligence and parsimony have increased it. This is 
your own to waste or to improve. If you squander it by 
negligence or caprice, you must wait for death before you 
be rich; if, in four years, you double your stock, we will 
thenceforward let subordination cease, and live together 
as friends and partners; for he shall be always equal with 
me who is equally skilled in the art of growing rich.” 

“We laid our money upon camels, concealed in bales 
of cheap goods, and traveled to the shore of the Red Sea. 
When I cast my eye upon the expanse of waters, my heart 
bounded like that of a prisoner escaped. I felt an unex- 
tinguishable curiosity kindle in my mind, and resolved to 
snatch this opportunity of seeing the manners of other 
nations, and of learning science unknown in Abyssinia. 

“I remember that my father had obliged me to improve- 
ment of my stock, not by a promise which I ought not to 
violate, but by a penalty which I was at liberty to incur; 
and therefore determined to gratify my predominant 
desire, and, by drinking at the fountain of knowledge, to 

quench the thirst of curiosity. 

114 


24 


EASSELAS. 


“As I was supposed to trade without connection with 
my father, it was easy for me to become acquainted with 
the master of a ship, and procure a passage to some other 
country. I had a motive of choice to regulate my voyage : 
it was sufficient for me that, wherever I wandered, I 
should see a country which I had not seen before. I 
therefore entered a ship bound for Surat, having left a 
letter for my father declaring my intention.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE HISTORY OF I ML AC CONTINUED. 

“When I first entered upon the world of waters, and 
lost sight of land, I looked round about me with pleasing 
terror, and, thinking my soul enlarged by the boundless 
prospects, imagined that I could gaze round without 
satiety, but in a short time, I grew wear y of looking on 
barren uniformity, where I could only see again what I 
had already seen. I then descended into the ship, and 
doubted for a while whether all my future pleasures 
would not end like this, in disgust and disappointment. 
Yet, surely, said I, the ocean and the land are very dif- 
ferent ; the only variety of water is rest and motion, but 
the earth has mountains and valleys, deserts and cities ; 
it is inhabited by men of different customs and contrary 
opinions ; and I may hope to find variety in life though 
I should miss it in nature. 

“With this thought I quieted my mind, and amused 
myself during the voyage, sometimes by learning from 
the sailors the art of navigation, which I have never 
practiced, and sometimes by forming schemes for my 
conduct in different situations, in not one of W'hich I 
have been ever placed. 

“I was almost weary of my naval amusement when we 

lI 5 


RASSELAS. 


25 

landed safely at Surat. I secured my money, and pur- 
chasing some commodities for show, joined myself to a 
caravan that was passing into the inland country. My 
companions, for some reason or other, conjecturing that I 
w r as rich, and, by my inquiries and admiration, finding 
that I was ignorant, considered me as a novice whom 
they had a right to cheat, and who was to learn at the 
usual expense the art of fraud. They exposed me to 
the theft of servants and the exaction of officers, and 
saw me plundered upon false pretences, without any ad- 
vantage to themselves, but that of rejoicing in the supe- 
riority of their own knowledge.” 

“Stop a moment,” said the prince. “Is there such de- 
pravity in man as that he should injure another without 
benefit to himself? I can easily conceive that all are 
pleased without superiority ; but your ignorance was 
merely accidental, which, being neither your crime nor 
your folly, could afford them no reason to applaud them- 
selves : and the knowledge which they had, and which 
you wanted, they might as effectually have shown by 
warning as betraying you.” 

“Pride,” said Imlac, “is seldom delicate, it will please 
itself with very mean advantages; and envy feels not its 
own happiness, but when it may be compared with the 
misery of others. They were my enemies, because they 
grieved to think me rich ; and my oppressors, because 
they delighted to find me weak.” 

“Proceed,” said the prince ; “I doubt not of the facts 
which you relate, but imagine that you impute them to 
mistaken motives.” 

“In this company,” said Imlac, “I arrived at Arga, 
the capital of Indostan, the city in which the Great 
Mogul commonly resides. I applied myself to the lan- 
guage of the country, and in a few months was able to 


26 


RASSELAS. 


converse with the learned men ; some of whom I found 
morose and reserved, and others easy and communica- 
tive ; some were unwilling to teach another what they 
had with difficulty learned themselves ; and some showed 
that the end of their studies was to gain the dignity of.’ 
instructing. 

“To the tutor of the yonng princes I recommended' 
myself so much that I was presented to the emperor as a. 
man of uncommon knowledge. The emperor asked me 
many questions concerning my country and my travels 
and though I cannot now recollect anything that he 
uttered above the power of a common man, he dismissed 
me astonished at his wisdom, and enamored of his good- 
ness. 

“My credit was now so high that the merchants with 
whom I traveled, applied to me for recommendations to 
the ladies of the court. I was surprised at their confi- 
dence of solicitation, and gently reproached them with 
their practices on the road. They heard me with cold 
indifference, and showed no tokens of shame or sorrow. 

“They then urged their request with the offer of a 
bribe ; but what I would not do for kindness, I would 
not do for money; and refused them, not because they 
had injured me, but because I would not enable them to 
injure others; for I knew they would have made use of 
my credit to cheat those who should buy their wares. 

“Having resided at Arga till there was no more to be 
learned, I traveled into Persia, where I saw many re- 
mains of ancient magnificence, and observed many new 
accommodations of life. The Persians are a nation emi- 
nently social, and their assemblies afforded me daily 
opportunities of remarking characters and manners, and 
of tracing human nature through all its variations. 

“From Persia I passed into Arabia, where I saw a 

117 


RASSELAS. 


27 

nation at once pastoral and warlike ; who lived without 
any settled habitation ; whose only wealth is their flocks 
and herds; and who have yet carried on, through all 
ages, an hereditary war with all mankind, though they 
neither covet nor envy their possessions.” 


CHAPTER X. 

IMLAC’S HISTORY CONTINUED. A DISSERTATION ON POETRY. 

“ Wherever I went, I found that poetry was consid- 
ered as the highest learning, and regarded with a ven- 
eration somewhat approaching to that which man would 
pay to the Angelic nature. And yet it fills me with 
wonder, that, in almost all countries, the most ancient poets 
are considered as the best ; whether it be that every other 
kind of knowledge is an acquisition gradually attained, 
and poetry is a gift conferred at once ; or that the first 
poetry of every nation surprised them as a novelty, and 
retained the credit by consent, which it received by ac- 
cident at first : or whether, as the province of poetry is 
to describe nature and passion, which are always the 
same, the first writers took possession of the most strik- 
ing objects for description, and the most probable oc- 
curences for fiction, and left nothing to those that 
followed them, but transcription of the same events, and 
new combinations of the same images. Whatever be the 
reason, it is commonly observed that the early writers 
are in possession of nature, and their followers of art ; 
that the first excel in strength and invention, and the lat- 
ter in elegance and refinement. 

“ I was desirous to add my name to this illustrious 
fraternity. I read all the poets of Persia and Arabia, and 

was able to repeat by memory the volumes that are sus- 
1 18 


RASSELAS. 


28 

pended in the mosque of Mecca. But I soon found that 
no man was great by imitation. My desire of excellence 
impelled me to transfer my attention to nature and to 
life. Nature was to be my subject, and men to be my 
auditors ; I could never describe what I had not seen : I 
could not hope to move those with delight or terror, 
whose interests and opinions I did not understand. 

“ Being now resolved to be a poet, I saw everything 
with a new purpose ; my sphere of attention was suddenly 
magnified; no kind of knowledge was to be overlooked. 

I ranged mountains and deserts for images and resem- 
blances, and pictured upon my mind every tree of the 
forest and flower of the valley. I observed with equal 
care the crags of the rock and the pinnacles of the palace. 
Sometimes I wandered along the mazes of the rivulet, and 
sometimes watched the changes of the summer clouds. 
To a poet nothing can be useless. Whatever is beautiful 
and whatever is dreadful must be familiar to his imajri- 
nation ; he must be conversant with all that is awfully 
vast or elegantly little. The plants of the garden, the 
animals of the wood, the minerals of the earth, and me- 
teors of the sky, must all concur to store his mind with 
inexhaustible variety ; for every idea is useful for the en- 
forcement or decoration of moral or religious truth ; and 
he who knows most will have most power of diversifying 
his scenes, and of gratifying his reader with remote allu- 
sions and unexpected instruction. 

“ All the appearances of nature I was therefore careful 
to study ; &nd every country which I have surveyed has 
contributed something to my poetical powers.” 

“In so wide a survey,” said the prince, “you must 
surely have left much unobserved. I have lived, till now, 
within the circuit of these mountains, and yet cannot 
walk abroad without the sight of something which I had 
never beheld before or never heeded.” 

119 


RASSELAS. 


29 


“ The business of a poet,” said Imlac, u is to examine, 
not the individual, but the species ; to remark general 
properties and large appearances ; he does not number 
the streaks of the tulip or describe the different shades in 
the verdure of the forest. He is to e diibit in his por- 
traits of nature such prominent and st. ‘iking features as 
recall the original to every mind ; and must neglect the 
minuter discrimination, which one m* r have remarked, 
and another have neglected, for the 3 characteristics 
which are alike obvious to vigilance anu carelessness. 

“ But the knowledge of nature is only half the task of 
a poet ; he must be acquainted likewise with all the 
modes of life. His character requires that he estimate 
the happiness and misery of every condition; observe the 
power of all the passions in all their combinations, and 
trace the changes of the human mind as they are modified 
by various institutions and accidental influences of cli- 
mate or custom, from the sprightliness of infancy to the 
despondence of decrepitude. He must divest himself of 
the prejudices of his age or country; he must consider 
right and wrong in their abstracted and invariable state ; 
he must disregard present laws and opinions, and rise to 
general and transcendental truths, which will always be 
the same ; he must therefore content himself with the 
slow progress of his name ; contemn the applause of his 
own time, and commit his claims to the justice of pos- 
terity. He must write as the interpreter of nature, and 
the legislator of mankind, and consider himself as pre- 
siding over the thoughts and manners of future genera- 
tions ; as a being superior to time and place. 

“ His labor is not yet at an end ; he must know many 
languages and many sciences ; and, that his style may be 
worthy of his thoughts, must, by incessant practice, 
familiarize to himself every delicacy of speech and grace 
of harmony.” 

Vo 


30 


KASSELAS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

I ML AC’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED. A HINT ON PILGRIMAGE. 

Imlac now felt the enthusiastic fit, and was proceeding 
to aggrandize his own profession, when the prince cried 
out, “ Enough! thou hast convinced me that no human 
being can ever be a poet. Proceed with thy narration.” 

“ To be a poet,” said Imlac, “is indeed very difficult.” 
“ So difficult,” returned the prince, “that I will at present 
hear no more of his labors. Tell me whither you went 
when you had seen Persia.” 

“ From Persia,” said the poet, “ I traveled through 
Syria, and for three years resided in Palestine, where I 
conversed with great numbers of the northern and western 
nations of Europe ; the nations which are now in posses- 
sion of all power and all knowledge : whose armies are 
irresistible, and whose fleet commands the remotest parts 
of the globe. When I compared these men with the na- 
tives of our own kingdom, and those that surround us, 
they appeared almost another order of beings. In their 
countries it is difficult to wish for anything that may not 
be obtained : a thousand arts, of which we never heard, 
are continually laboring for their convenience and pleas- 
ure ; and whatever their own climate has denied them is 
supplied by their commerce.” 

“ By what means,” said the prince, “ are the Europeans 
thus powerful ; or why, since they can so easily visit Asia 
or Africa for trade or conquest, cannot the Asiatics and 
Africans invade their coasts, plant colonies in their ports, 
and give laws to their natural princes ? The same wind 
that carries them back would bring us thither.” 

“ They are more powerful, sir, than we,” answered Imlac, 
“ because they are wiser ; knowledge will always predomi- 
nate over ignorance, as man governs the other animals. 

1 21 


RASSELAS. 


3i 

But why their knowledge is more than ours, I know not 
what reason can be given, but the unsearchable will of the 
Supreme Being.” 

“When,” said the prince with a sigh, “shall I be able 
to visit Palestine, and mingle with this mighty confluence 
of nations ? Till that happy moment shall arrive, let me 
fill up the time with such representations as thou canst 
give me. I am not ignorant of the motive that assembles 
such numbers in that place, and cannot but consider it as 
the centre of wisdom and piety, to which the best and 
wisest of every land must be continually resorting.” 

“There are some nations,” said Imlac, “that send few 
visitants to Palestine ; for many numerous and learned 
sects in Europe concur to censure pilgrimage as supersti- 
tious or deride it as ridiculous.” 

“You know,” said the prince, “how little my life has 
made me acquainted with diversity of opinions : it will be 
too long to hear the arguments on both sides ; you, that 
have considered them, tell me the result.” 

“Pilgrimage,” said Imlac, “like many other sects of 
piety, may be reasonable or superstitious, according to 
the principles upon which it is performed. Long jour- 
neys in search of truth are not commanded. Truth, such 
as is necessary to the regulation of life, is always found 
where it is honestly sought. Change of place is no natural 
cause of the increase of piety, for it inevitably produces 
•dissipation of mind. Yet, since men go every day to 
view the fields where great actions have been performed, 
^nd return with stronger impressions of the event, curi- 
osity of the same kind may naturally dispose us to view 
that country whence our religion had its beginning : and 
I believe no man surveys those awful scenes without some 
confirmation of holy resolutions. That the Supreme 

Being may be more easily propitiated in one place than 
122 


RASSELAS. 


32 

in another is the dream of idle superstition ; but that 
some places may operate upon our minds in an uncom- 
mon manner is an opinion which hourly experience will 
justify. He who supposes that his vices may be more 
successfully combated in Palestine, will perhaps find 
himself mistaken ; yet he may go thither without folly : 
he who thinks they will be more freely pardoned, dishon- 
ors at once his reason and religion.” 

“ These,” said the prince, “are European distinctions. 
I will consider them another time. What have you found 
to be the effect of knowledge ? Are those nations happier 
than we ? ” 

“There is so much infelicity,” said the poet, “in the 
world, that scarce any man has leisure from his own dis- 
tresses to estimate the comparative happiness of others. 
Knowledge is certainly one of the means of pleasure, as 
is confessed by the natural desire which every mind feels 
of increasing its ideas. Ignorance is mere privation, by 
which nothing can be produced : it is a vacuity in which 
the soul sits motionless and torpid for want of attraction ; 
and, without knowing why, we always rejoice when we 
learn, and grieve when we forget. I am therefore inclined 
to conclude that if nothing counteracts the natural con- 
sequence of learning, we grow more happy as our minds 
take a wider range. 

“In enumerating the particular comforts of life, we 
shall find many advantages on the side of the Europeans. 
They cure wounds and diseases with which we languish 
and perish. We suffer inclemencies of weather which 
they can obviate. They have engines for the despatch 
of many laborious works which we must perform by man- 
ual industry. There is such communication between dis- 
tant places that one friend can hardly be said to be 

absent from another. Their policy removes all public 
123 


EASSELAS. 33 

inconveniences ; they have roads cut through their moun- 
tains, and bridges laid upon their rivers. And, if we 
descend to the privacies of life, their habitations are more 
commodious, and their possessions are more secure.” 

“They are surely happy,” said the prince, “who have 
all those conveniences, of which I envy none so much as 
the facility with which separated friends interchange 
their thoughts.” 

“ The Europeans,” answered Imlac, “are less unhappy 
than we, but they are not happy. Human life is every- 
where a state in which much is to be endured and little 
to be enjoyed.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE STORY OP IMLAC CONTINUED. 

“ I am not yet willing,” said the prince, “ to suppose 
that happiness is so parsimoniously distributed to mor- 
tals ; nor can believe but that, if I had the choice of 
life, I should be able to fill every day with pleasure. I 
would injure no man, and should provoke no resent- 
ment ; I would relieve every distress, and should enjoy 
the benedictions of gratitude. I would choose my friends 
among the wise and my wife among the virtuous ; and 
therefore should be in no danger from treachery or unkind- 
ness. My children should, by my care, be learned and 
pious, and would repay to my age what their childhood 
had received. What would dare to molest him who might 
call on every side to thousands enriched by his bounty, 
or assisted by his power? And why should not life glide 
quietly away in the soft reciprocation of protection and 
reverence ? All this may be done without the help ot 
European refinements, which appear by their effects to 
be rather specious than useful. Let us leave them, and 
pursue our journey.” 

124 


34 


RASSELAS. 


“From Palestine,” said Imlac, “I passed through many 
regions of Asia, in the more civilized kingdoms as a 
trader, among the barbarians of the mountains as a pil- 
grim. At last I began to long for my native country, 
that I might repose, after my travels and fatigues, in the 
places where I had spent my earliest years, and gladden 
my old companions with the recital of my adventures. 
Often did I figure to myself those with whom I had 
sported away the gay hours of dawning life, sitting round 
me in its evening, wondering at my tales, and listening 
to my counsels. 

“ When this thought had taken possession of my mind, 

I considered every moment as wasted which did not bring 
me nearer to Abyssinia. I hastened into Egypt, and not- 
withstanding my impatience, was detained ten months in 
the contemplation of its ancient magnificence, and in in- 
quiries after the remains of ancient learning. I found in 
Cairo a mixture of all nations ; some brought thither by 
the love of knowledge, some by the hope of gain, and 
many by the desire of living hid in the obscurity of mul- 
titudes ; for in a city, populous as Cairo, it is possible to 
obtain at the same time the gratifications of society and 
the secrecy of solitude. 

“From Cairo I traveled to Suez, and embarked on the 
Red Sea, passing along the coast till I arrived at the port 
from which I had departed twenty years before. Here 
I joined myself to a caravan, and re-entered my native 
country. 

“I now expected the caresses of my kinsmen, and the 
congratulations of my friends, and was not without hope 
that my father, whatever value he had set upon riches, 
would own with gladness and pride a son who was able' 
to add to the felicity and honor of the nation. But I was 

soon convinced that my thoughts were vain. My father 
125 


RASSELAS . 


35 

had been dead fourteen }^ears, having divided his wealth 
among my brothers, who were removed to some other 
provinces. Of my companions the greater part were in 
the grave ; of the rest, some could with difficulty remem- 
ber me, and some considered me as one corrupted by 
foreign manners. 

“A man used to vicissitudes is not easily dejected. I 
forgot, after a time, my disappointment, and endeavored 
to recommend myself to the nobles of the kingdom; they 
admitted me to their tables, heard my story, and dis- 
missed me. I opened a school, and was prohibited to 
teach. I then resolved to sit down in the quiet of domes- 
tic life, and addressed a lady that was fond of my con- 
versation, but rejected my suit because my father was a 
merchant. 

“Wearied at last with solicitations and repulses, I 
resolved to hide myself forever from the world, and 
depend no longer on the opinion or caprice of others. I 
waited for the time when the gate of the happy valley 
should open, that I might bid farewell to hope and fear: 
the day came; my performance was distinguished with 
favor, and I resigned myself with joy to perpetual con- 
finement.” 

“Hast thou here found happiness at last? Tell me 
without reserve; art thou content with thy condition? 
or, dost thou wish to be again wandering and inquiring ? 
All the inhabitants of this valley celebrate their lot, and 
at the annual visit of the emperor invite others to par- 
take of their felicity.” 

“Great prince,” said Imlac, “I shall speak the truth. I 
know not one of all your attendants who does not lament 
the hour when he entered this retreat. I am less un- 
happy then the rest, because I have a mind replete with 

images, which I can vary and combine at pleasure. I 
126 


RASSELAS. 


36 

can amuse my solitude by the renovation of the know- 
ledge which begins to fade from my memory, and by 
recollections of the incidents of my past life. Yet all 
this ends in the sorrowful consideration that my acquire- 
ments are now useless, and that none of my pleasures 
can be again enjoyed. The rest, whose minds have no 
impression but that of the present moment, are either 
corroded by malignant passions or sit stupid in the gloom 
of perpetual vacancy.” 

“What passions can infest those,” said the prince, 
“who have no rivals? We are in a place where impotence 
precludes malice, and where all envy is repressed by 
community of enjoyments.” 

“There may be community,” said Imlac, “of material 
possessions, but there can never be community of love or 
of esteem. It must happen that one will please more 
than another: he that knows himself despised will always 
be envious ; and still more envious and malevolent if he 
be condemned to live in the presence of those who des- 
pise him. The invitations by which they allure others to 
a state which they feel to be wretched, proceed from the 
natural malignity of hopeless misery. They are weary 
of themselves and of $ach other, and expect to find relief 
in new companions. They envy the liberty which their 
folly has forfeited, and would gladly see all mankind im- 
prisoned like themselves. 

“From this crime, however, I am wholly free. No man 
can say that he is wretched by my persuasion. I look 
with pity on the crowds who are annually soliciting ad- 
mission into captivity, and wish that it were lawful for 
me to warn them of their danger.” 

“My dear Imlac,” said the prince, “I will open to thee 
my whole heart. I have long meditated an escape from 
the happy valley . I have examined the mountains on 
* 2 7 


KASSELAS. 


37 

every side, and find myself insuperably barred. Teach 
me the way to break my prison : thou shalt be the com- 
panion of my flight, the guide of my rambles, the partner 
of my fortune, and my sole director in the choice of life .” 

“Sir,” answered the poet, “your escape will be difficult; 
and perhaps you may soon repent your curiosity. The 
world, which you figure to yourself smooth and quiet as 
the lake in the valley, 3 r ou will find a sea foaming with 
tempests and boiling with whirlpools : you will be some- 
times overwelmed with the waves of violence, and some- 
times dashed against the rocks of treachery. Amidst 
wrongs and frauds, competitions and anxieties, 3 r ou will 
wish a thousand times for these seats of quiet, and will- 
ingly quit hope to be free from fear.” 

“Do not seek to deter me from my purpose,” said the 
prince; “I am impatient to see what thou hast seen; and 
since thou art thyself weary of the valley, it is evident 
that thy former state was better than this. Whatever be 
the consequence of my experiment, I am resolved to judge 
w r ith mine own eyes of the various condition of men, and 
then to make deliberately my choice of life . 

“I am afraid,” said Imlac, “you are hindered by stron- 
ger restraints than my persuasions; yet, if your deter- 
mination is fixed, I do' not counsel 3 r ou to despair. Few 
things are impossible to diligence and skill.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

RASSELAS DISCOVERS THE MEANS OF ESCAPE. 

The prince now dismissed his favorite to rest, but the 
narrative of wonders and novelties filled his mind with 
perturbation. He revolved all that he had heard, and 
prepared innumerable questions for the morning. 

Much of his uneasiness was now removed. He had a 
128 


RASSELAS. 


38 

friend to whom he could impart his thoughts, and whose 
exp?rience could assist him in his designs. His heart 
was no longer condemned to swell in silent vexation. 
He thought that even the happy valley might be endured 
with such a companion ; and that if they could range the 
world together, he should have nothing further to desire. 

In a few days the water was discharged, and the ground 
dried. The prince and Imlac then walked out together 
to converse without the notice of the rest. The prince, 
whose thoughts were always on the wing, as he passed by 
the gate said, with a countenance of sorrow, “ Why art 
thou so strong, and why is man so weak ?” 

“Man is not weak,” answered his companion ; “knowl- 
edge is more than equivalent to force. The master of me- 
chanics laughs at strength. I can burst the gate, bnt can- 
not do it secretly. Some other expedient must be tried.” 

As they were walking on the side of the mountain 
they observed that the conies, which the rain had driven 
from their burrows, had taken shelter among the bushes, 
and formed holes behind them, tending upwards in an 
oblique line. “It has been the opinion of antiquity,” said 
Imlac, “that human reason borrowed many arts from the 
instinct of animals ; let us therefore not think ourselves 
degraded by learning from the cony. We may escape by 
piercing the mountain in the same direction. We will 
begin where the summit hangs over the middle part, and 
labor upward till we shall issue up beyond the promi- 
nence.” 

The eyes of the prince, when he heard this proposal, 
sparkled with joy. The execution was easy, and the 
success certain. 

No time was now lost. They hastened, early in the 
morning, to choose a place proper for their mind. They 
clambered with great fatigue among crags and brambles, 


RASSELAS. 


39 

and returned without having discovered any part that 
favored their design. The second and third day were 
spent in the same manner, and with the same frustration. 
But, on the fourth, they found a small cavern, concealed by 
a thicket, where they resolved to make their experiment. 

lmiac procured iustruments proper to hew stone and 
remove earth, and they fell to work the next day with 
more eagerness than vigor. They were presently ex- 
hausted by their efforts, and sat down to pant upon the 
grass. The prince, for a moment, appeared to be dis- 
couraged. ‘‘Sir,” said his companion, “practice will en- 
able us to continue our labor for a longer time ; mark, 
however, how far we have advanced, and you will find 
that our toil will some time have an end. Great works 
are performed, not by strength, but by perseverance ; 
yonder palace was raised by single stones, yet you see its 
height and spaciousness. He that shall walk with vigor 
three hours a day, will pass in seven years a space equal 
to the circumference of the globe.” 

They returned to their work day after day, and in a 
short time found a fissure in the rock, which enabled 
them to pass far with very little obstruction. This 
Rasselas considered as a good omen. “Do not disturb 
your mind,” said Imlac, “with other hopes and fears than 
reason may suggest ; if you are pleased with prognostics 
of good, you will be terrified likewise with tokens of evil, 
and your whole life will be a prey to superstition. What- 
ever facilitates our work is more than an omen, it is a 
cause of success. This is one of those pleasing surprises 
which often happen to active resolution. Many things 

difficult to design prove easy to performance.” 

130 


4o 


1ZASSELAS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

RASSELAS AND IMLAC RECEIVE AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 

They had now wrought their way to the middle, and 
solaced their thoughts with the approach of liberty, when 
the prince, coming down to refresh himself with air, found 
his sister Nekayah standing before the mouth of the 
cavity. He started and stood confused, afraid to tell his 
design, and yet hopeless to conceal it. A few moments 
determined him to repose on her fidelity, and secure her 
secrecy by a declaration without reserve. 

“Do not imagine,” said the princess, “that I come 
hither as a spy ; I had long observed from my window 
that you and Imlac directed your walk every day towards 
the same point, but I did not suppose you had any better 
reason for the preference than a cooler shade, or more 
fragrant bank ; nor followed you with any other design 
than to partake of your conversation. Since, then, not 
suspicion but fondness has detected you, let me not lose 
the advantage of my discovery. I am equally weary of 
confinement with yourself, and not less desirous of know- 
ing what is done or suffered in the world. Permit me to 
fly with you from this tasteless tranquility, which will yet 
grow more loathesome when you have left me. You may 
deny me to accompany you, but cannot hinder me from 
following.” 

The prince, who loved Nekayah above his other sisters, 
had no inclination to refuse her request, and grieved that 
he had lost an opportunity of showing his confidence by 
a voluntary communication. It was therefore agreed that 
she should leave the valley with them ; and that in the 
meantime she should watch lest any other straggler should, 
by chance or curiosity, follow them to the mountain. 

At length their labor was at an end ; they saw light 

131 


RASSELAS. 


4i 

beyond the prominence, and, issuing to the top of the 
mountain, beheld the Nile, yet a narrow current, wander- 
ing beneath them. 

The prince looked round with rapture, and anticipated 
all the pleasure of travel, and in thought was already 
transported beyond his father’s dominions. Imlac, though 
very joyful at his escape, had less expectation of pleasure 
in the world, which he had before tried, and of which he 
had been weary. 

Rasselas was so much delighted with a wider horizon 
that he could not soon be persuaded to return into the 
valley. He informed his sister that the way was open, 
and that nothing now remained but to prepare for their 
departure. 


CHAPTER XY. 

THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS LEAVE THE VALLEY AND SEE 
MANY WONDERS. 

The prince and princess had jewels sufficient to make 
them rich whenever they came to a place of commerce, 
which, by Imlac’s direction, they might hide in their 
clothes ; and, on the night of the next full moon, all left 
the valley. The princess was followed only by a single 
favorite, who did not know whither she was going. 

They clambered through the cavity, and began to go 
down on the other side. The princess and her maid 
turned their eyes towards every part, and seeing nothing 
to bound their prospect, considered themselves as in dan- 
ger of being lost in a dreary vacuity. They stopped and 
trembled. “I am almost afraid,” said the princess, “to 
begin a journey of which I cannot perceive an end, and 
to venture into this immense plain, where I may be ap- 
proached on every side by men I never saw.” The prince 
132 


RASSELAS. 


42 

felt nearly the same emotions, though he thought it more 
manly to conceal them. 

Imlac smiled at their terrors, and encouraged them to 
proceed ; but the princess continued irresolute till she had 
been imperceptibly drawn forward too far to return. 

In the morning they found some shepherds in the field, 
who set milk and fruits before them. The princess won- 
dered that she did not see a palace ready for her recep- 
tion, and a table spread with delicacies ; but, being faint 
and hungry, she drank the milk and ate the fruits, and 
thought them of a higher flavor than the products of 
the valley. 

They traveled forward by easy journeys, being all un- 
accustomed to toil or difficulty, and knowing that, though 
they might be missed, they could not be pursued. In a 
few days they came into a more populous region, where 
Imlac was diverted with the admiration which his com- 
panions expressed at the diversity of manners, stations 
and employments. 

Their dress was such as might not bring upon them 
the suspicion of having anything to conceal ; yet the 
prince, wherever he came, expected to be obeyed, and the 
princess was frightened because those who came into her 
presence did not prostrate themselves before her. Imlac 
was forced to observe them with great vigilance, lest 
they should betray their rank by their unusual behavior, 
and detained them several weeks in the first village, to 
accustom them to the sight of common mortals. 

By degrees the royal wanderers were taught to under- 
stand that they had laid aside their dignity, and were to 
expect only such regard as liberality and courtesy could 
procure. And Imlac having, by many admonitions, pre- 
pared them to endure the tumults of a port, and the rug- 
gedness of the commercial race, brought them down to 
the sea-coast. 
i33 


RASSELAS. 


43 

The Prince and his sister, to whom everything was 
new, were gratified equally at all places, and therefore 
remained for some months at the port without any incli- 
nation to pass further. Imlac was content with their 
stay, because he did not think it safe to expose them, 
unpracticed in the world, to the hazards of a foreign 
country. 

At last he began to fear lest they should be discovered, 
and proposed to fix the day for their departure. They 
had no pretensions to judge for themselves, and referred 
the whole scheme to his direction. He therefore took 
passage in a ship to Suez, and when the time came, with 
great difficulty prevailed on the princess to enter the 
vessel. They had a quick and prosperous voyage ; and 
from Suez traveled by land to Cairo. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

THEY ENTER CAIRO, AND FIND EVERY MAN HAPPY. 

As they approached the city, which filled the strangers 
with astonishment, “This,” said Imlac to the Prince, “is 
the place where travelers and merchants assemble from 
all the corners of the earth. You will here find men of 
every character, and every occupation. Commerce is 
here honorable ; I will act as a merchant who has no 
other end for travel than curiosity ; it will soon be 
observed that we are rich ; our reputation will procure 
us access to all whom we shall desire to know ; you will 
see all the conditions of humanity, and enable yourself 
at leisure to make your choice of life . 11 

They now entered the town, stunned by the noise and 
offended by the crowds. Instruction had not yet so pre- 
vailed over habit, but that they wondered to see them- 
selves pass undistinguished along the street, and met by 
i34 


44 


RASSELAS. 


the lowest of the people without reverence or notice. 
The princess could not at first bear the thought of being 
leveled with the vulgar, and for some days continued in 
her chamber, where she was served by her favorite Pe- 
kuah as in the palace of the valley. 

Imlac, who understood traffic, sold part of the jewels 
the next day, and hired a house, which he adorned with 
such magnificence that he was immediately considered a 
merchant of great wealth. His politeness attracted 
many acquaintances, and his generosity made him 
courted by many dependants. His table was crowded 
by men of every nation, who all admired his knowledge 
and solicited his favor. His companions, not being able 
to mix in the conversation, could make no discovery of 
their ignorance or surprise, and were gradually initiated 
in the world as they gained knowledge of the language. 

The prince had, by frequent lectures, been taught the 
use and nature of money ; but the ladies could not for a 
long time comprehend what the merchants did with small 
pieces of gold and silver, or why things of so little use 
should be received as equivalent for the necessaries of 
life. 

They studied the language two years, while Imlac wa^ 
preparing to set before them the various ranks and con- 
ditions of mankind. He grew acquainted with all who 
had anything uncommon in their fortune or conduct. 
He frequented the voluptuous and the frugal, the idle 
and the busy, the merchants and the men of learning. 

The prince being now able to converse with fluency, 
and having learned the caution necessary to be observed 
in his intercourse with strangers, began to accompany 
Imlac to places of resort, and to enter into all assemblies, 
that he might make his choice of life. 

For some time he thought choice needless, because all 
I 35 


RASSELAS. 


45 

appeared to him equally happy. ~ Wherever he went he 
met gayety and kindness, and heard the song of joy or 
the laughter of carelessness. He began to believe that 
the world overflowed with universal plenty; and that 
nothing was withheld either from want or merit ; that 
every hand showered liberality, and every heart melted 
w r ith benevolence; “and who, then,” says he, “will be 
suffered to be wretched V 1 

Imlac permitted the pleasing delusion, and was unwill- 
ing to crush the hope of inexperience, till one day, having 
sat awhile silent, “I know not,” said the prince, “what can 
be the reason that I am more unhappy than any of our 
friends. I see them perpetually and unalterably cheer- 
ful, but feel my own mind restless and uneasy. I am 
unsatisfied with those pleasures which I seem most to 
court. I live in the crowds of jollity, not so much to en- 
joy company as to shun myself, and am only loud and 
merry to conceal n^ sadness.” 

“Every man,” said Imlac, “may by examining his own 
mind guess what passes in the minds of others : when you 
feel that your own gayety is counterfeit, it may justly lead 
you to suspect that of your companions not to be sincere. 
Envy is commonly reciprocal. We are long before we 
are convinced that happiness is never to be found, and 
each believes it possessed by others to keep alive the 
hope of obtaining it for himself. In the assembly where 
you passed the last night, there appeared such sprightli- 
ness of air and volatility of fancy as might have suited 
beings of a higher order formed to inhabit serener regions 
inaccessible to care or sorrow ; yet believe me, prince, 
there was not one who did not dread the moment when 
solitude should deliver him to the tyranny of reflection.” 

“This,” said the prince, “may be true of others, since it 
is true of me ; yet whatever be the general infelicity of 
136 


4 6 


RASSELAS. 

man, one condition is more liappy than another, and wis- 
dom surely directs us to take the least evil in the choice 
of life:' 

“The causes of good and evil,” answered Imlac,“are so 
various and uncertain, so often entangled with each other, 
so diversified by various relations, and so much subject 
to accidents which cannot be foreseen, that he who would 
fix his condition upon incontestible reasons of preference, 
must live and die inquiring and deliberating.” 

“But, surely,” said Ilasselas, “the wise men, to whom 
we listen with reverence and wonder, chose that mode of 
life for themselves which they thought most likely to 
make them happy.” 

“Very few,” said the poet, “live by choice. Every 
man is placed in his present condition by causes which 
acted without his foresight, and with which he did not 
always willing co-operate ; and therefore yo u will 
rarely meet one who does not think the lot of his neigh- 
bor better than his own.” 

“I am pleased to think,” said the prince, “that my 
birth has given me at least one advantage over others, 
by enabling me to determine for myself. I have here the 
world before me; I will review it at leisure; surely 
happiness is somewhere to be found.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE PRINCE ASSOCIATES WITH YOUNG MEN OF SPIRIT 
AND GAYETY. 

Rasselas rose next day, and resolved to begin his ex- 
periments upon life. “Youth,” cried he, “is the time of 
gladness : I will join myself to the young men, whose 
only business is to gratify their desires, and whose time 
is all spent in a succession of enjoyments.” 


RASSELAS. 


47 

To such societies he was readily admitted ; but a few 
days brought him back weary and disgusted. Their 
mirth was without images ; their laughter without mo- 
tive; their pleasures were gross and sensual, in which 
the mind had no part ; their conduct was at once wild 
and mean ; they laughed at order and law : but the 
frown of power dejected, and the eye of wisdom abashed 
them. 

The prince soon concluded that he should never be 
happy in a course of life of which he was ashamed. He 
thought it unsuitable to a reasonable being to act without 
a plan, and to be sad or cheerful only by chance. “Hap- 
piness,” said he, “must be something solid and permanent 
without fear and without uncertainty.” 

But his young companions had gained so much of his 
regard by their frankness and courtesy that he could not 
leave them without warning and remonstrance. “My 
friends,” said he, “I have seriously considered our man- 
ners and our prospects, and find that we have mistaken 
our own interest. The first years of man must make 
provision for the last. He that never thinks never can 
be wise. Perpetual levity must end in ignorance; and 
intemperance, though it may fire the spirits for an hour, 
will make life short or miserable. Let us consider that 
youth is of no long duration, and that in maturer age, 
when the enchantments of fancy shall cease, and phan- 
toms of delight dance no more about us, we shall have 
no comforts but the esteem of wise men, and the means 
of doing good. Let us, therefore, stop while to stop is 
in our power: let us live as men who are sometimes to 
grow old, and to whom it will be the mos tdreadful of all 
evils not to count their past year^ by follies, and to be 
reminded of their former luxuriance of health only by 
the maladies which riot has produced.” 

138 


48 


RASSELAS. 


They stared awhile in silence one upon another, and 
at last drove him away by a general chorus of continued 
laughter. 

The conscious "ess that his sentiments were just, and 
his intentions kind, was scarcely sufficient to support him 
against the horror of derision. But he recovered his 
tranquility and pursued his search 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE PRINCE FINDS A WISE AND HAPPY MAN. 

As he was one day walking in the street, he saw a 
spacious building, which all were, by the open doors, in- 
vited to enter; he followed the stream of people and 
found it a hall or school of declamation, in which profes- 
sors read lectures to their auditory. He fixed his eye 
upon a sage raised above the rest, who discoursed with 
great energy on the government of the passions. His 
look was venerable, his action graceful, his pronuncia- 
tion clear, and his diction elegant. He showed, with 
great strength of sentiment and variety of illustration, 
that human nature is degraded and debased when the 
lower faculties predominate over the higher ; and when 
fancy, the parent of passion, usurps the dominion of the 
mind, nothing ensues but the natural effect of unlawful 
government, perturbation, and confusion; that she be- 
trays the fortresses of the intellect to rebels, and excites 
her children to sedition against reason, their lawful sove- 
reign. He compared reason to the sun, of which the 
light is constant, uniform, and lasting ; and fancy to a 
meteor, of bright but transitory lustre, irregular in its 
motion, and delusive in its direction. 

He then communicated the various precepts given from 
time to time for the conquest of passion, and displayed 

139 


KASSEL AS. 


49 

the happiness of those who had obtained the important 
victory, after which man is no longer the slave of fear, 
nor the fool of hope; is no more emaciated by envy; but 
walks on calmly through the tumults or privacies of life, 
as the sun pursues alike his course through the calm or 
the stormy sky. 

He enumerated many examples of heroes immovable 
by pain or pleasure, who looked with indifference on 
those modes or accidents to which the vulgar give the 
names of good and evil. He exhorted his hearers to lay 
aside their prejudices, and arm themselves against the 
shafts of malice or misfortune, by invulnerable patience : 
concluding that this state only was happiness, and that 
this happiness was in every one’s power. 

Rasselas listened to him with the veneration due to the 
instructions of a superior being ; and waiting for him at 
the door, humbly implored the liberty of visiting so great 
a master of true wisdom. The lecturer hesitated a mo- 
ment, when Rasselas put a purse of gold into his hand, 
which he received with a mixture of joy and wonder. 

“I have found,” said the prince, at his return to Imlac, 
“a man who can teach all that is necessary to be known, 
who, from the unshaken throne of rational fortitude, looks 
down on the scenes of life changing beneath him. He 
speaks, and attention watches his lips. He reasons, and 
conviction closes his periods. This man shall be my 
future guide : I will learn his doctrines and imitate his life.” 

“Be not too hasty,” said Imlac, “to trust, or to admire 
the teachers of morality ; they discourse like angels, but 
they live like men.” 

Rasselas, who could not conceive how any man could 
reason so forcibly without feeling the cogency of his own 
arguments, paid his visit in a few days, and was denied 
admission. He had now learned the power of money, 
140 


RASSELAS. 


50 

and made his way by a piece of gold to the inner apart, 
ment, where he found the philosopher in a room half 
darkened, with his eyes misty, and his face pale. “Sir,” 
said he, “you are come at a time when all human friend 
ship is useless; what I suffer cannot be remedied, what 
I have lost cannot be supplied. My daughter, my only 
daughter, from whose tenderness I expected all the com- 
forts of my age, died last night of a fever. My views, 
my purposes, my hopes are at an end : I am now a lonely 
being disunited from society.” 

“Sir,” said the prince, “mortality is an event by which 

wise man can never be surprised : we know that death 
is always near, and it should therefore always be expect- 
ed.” “Young man,” answered the philosopher, “you 
speak like one that has never felt the pangs of separa- 
tion.” “Have you then forgot the precepts,” said Ras- 
selas, “which you so powerfully enforced ? Has wisdom 
no strength to arm the heart against calamity ? Consider 
that external things are naturally variable, but truth and 
reason are always the same.” “What comfort,” said the 
mourner, “can truth and reason afford me? Of what 
effect are they now, but to tell me that my daughter will 
not be restored ?” 

The prince, whose humanity would not suffer him to 
insult misery with reproof, went away convinced of the 
emptiness of rhetorical sound, and the inefficacy of 
polished periods and studied sentences. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A GLIMPSE OF PASTORAL LIFE. 

He was still eager upon the same inquiry ; and having 
heard of a hermit that lived near the lowest cataract of 
the Nile, and filled the whole country with the fame of 
H 1 


jRASSELAS. 


5i 

his sxnctity, resolved to visit his retreat, and inquire 
whether that felicity which public life could not afford, 
was to be found in solitude ; and whether a man whose 
age and virtue made him venerable, could teach any pe- 
culiar art of shunning evils or enduring them ? 

Imlac and the princess agreed to accompany him ; and, 
after the necessary preparations, they began their jour- 
ney. 

Their way lay through the fields where shepherds 
tended their flocks, and the lambs were playing upon the 
pasture. “This,” said the poet, “is the life which has 
been often celebrated for its innocence and quiet ; let us 
pass the heat of the day among shepherd’s tents, and 
know whether all our searches are not to terminate in 
pastoral simplicity.” 

The proposal pleased them, and they induced the shep- 
herds, by small presents and familiar questions, to tell 
their opinion of their own state; they were so rude and 
ignorant, so little able to compare the good with the evil 
of the occupation, and so indistinct in their narratives 
and descriptions, that very little could be learned from 
them. But it was evident that their hearts were can- 
kered with discontent ; that they considered themselves 
as condemned to labor for the luxury of the rich, and 
looked up with stupid malevolence towards those that 
were placed above them. 

The princess pronounced with vehemence that she 
would never suffer these envious savages to be her com- 
panions, and that she should not soon be desirous of see- 
ing any more specimens of rustic happiness ; but could 
not believe that all the accounts of primeval pleasures 
were fabulous ; and was yet in doubt whether life had 
anything that could be justly preferred to the placid 
gratifications of fields and woods. She hoped that the 
142 


KASSELAS. 


52 

time would come, when, with a few virtuous and elegant 
companions, she should gather flowers planted by her 
own hand, fondle the lambs of her own ewe, and listen, 
without care, among brooks and breezes, to one of her 
maidens reading in the shade. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE DANGER OF PROSPERITY. 

On the next day they continued their journey till the 
heat compelled them to look round for shelter. At a 
small distance they saw a thick wood, which they no 
sooner entered than they perceived that they were ap- 
proaching the habitations of men. The shrubs were 
diligently cut away to open walks where the shades were 
darkest ; the boughs of opposite trees were artificially 
interwoven ; seats of flowery turf were raised in vacant 
spaces ; and a rivulet that wantoned along a winding 
path had its banks sometimes opened into small basins, 
and its streams sometimes obstructed by little mounds 
of stone heaped together to increase its murmurs. 

They passed slowly through the wood, delighted with 
such unexpected accommodations, and entertained each 
other with conjecturing what or who he could be, that, 
in those rude and unfrequented regions, had leisure and 
art for such harmless luxury. 

As they advanced, they heard the sound of music, and 
saw youths and virgins dancing in the grove ; and, going 
still further, beheld a stately palace built upon a hill sur- 
rounded with woods. The laws of eastern hospitality 
allowed them to enter, and the master welcomed them like 
a man liberal and wealthy. 

He was skillful enough in appearances soon to discern 
that they were no common guests, and spread his table 
143 


KASSELAS. 


53 

■with magnificence. The eloquence of Imlac caught his 
attention, and the lofty courtesy of the princess excited 
his respect. When they offered to depart he entreated 
their stay, and was the next day still more unwilling to 
dismiss them than before. They were easily persuaded 
to stop, and civility grew up in time to freedom and con- 
fidence. 

The prince now saw all the domestics cheerful, and all 
the face of nature smiling round the place, and could not 
forbear to hope he should find here wjiat he was seeking : 
but when he was congratulating the master upon his pos- 
sessions, he answered with a sigh, “My condition has in- 
deed the appearance of happiness, but appearances are 
delusive. My prosperity puts my life in danger ; the 
Bassa of Egypt is my enemy, incensed only by my wealth 
and popularity. I have hitherto been protected against 
him by the princes of the country ; but as the favor of 
the great is uncertain, I know not how soon my defenders 
may be persuaded to share the plunder with the Bassa. 
I have sent my treasures into a distant country, and, 
upon the first alarm, am prepared to follow them. Then 
will my enemies riot in my mansion, and enjoy the gar- 
dens which I have planted.” 

They all joined in lamenting his danger, and deprecat- 
ing his exile ; and the princess was so much disturbed 
with the tumult of grief and indignation that she retired 
to her apartment. 

They continued with their kind inviter a few days lon- 
ger and then went forward to find the hermit. 

144 


54 RASSELAS. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE HAPPINESS OF SOLITUDE. THE HERMIT’S HISTORY. 

They came, on the third day, by direction of the peas- 
ants, to the hermit’s cell ; it was a cavern in the side of a 
mountain, overshadowed with palm-trees ; at such a dis- 
tance from the cataract that nothing more was heard 
than a gentle uniform murmur, such as composed the 
mind to pensive meditation, especially when it was 
assisted by the wind whistling among the branches. The 
first rude essay of nature had been so much improved by 
human labor that the cave contained several apartments 
appropriated to different uses, and often afforded lodging 
to travelers, whom darkness or tempests happened to 
overtake. 

The hermit sat on a bench at the door to enjoy the 
coolness of the evening. On one side lay a book with 
pens and papers, on the other were mechanical instru- 
ments of various kinds. As they approached him unre- 
garded, the princess observed that he had not the coun- 
tenance of a man who had found or could teach the w^ay 
to happiness. 

They saluted him with great respect, which he repaid 
like a man not unaccustomed to the forms of courts. 
“My children,” said he, “if you have lost your way, you 
shall be willingly supplied with such conveniences for the 
night as this cavern will afford. I have all that nature 
requires, and you will not expect delicacies in a hermit’s 
cell.” 

They thanked him; and entering, were pleased with 
the neatness and regularity of the place. The hermit sat 
flesh and wine before them, though he fed only upon 
fruits and water. His discourse ' was cheerful without 
levity, and pious without enthusiasm. He soon gained 
i45 


RASSELAS. 55 

the esteem of his guests, and the princess repented of 
her hasty censure. 

At last Imlac began thus : “I do not now wonder that 
your reputation is so far extended : we have heard at 
Cairo of your wisdom, and came hither to implore your 
direction for this young man and maiden in the choice of 
life .” 

“To him that lives well,” answered the hermit, “every 
form of life is good ; nor can I give any other rule for 
choice than to remove from all apparent evil.” 

“He will remove most certainly from evil,” said the 
prince, “who shall devote himself to that solitude which 
you have recommended by your example.” 

“I have indeed lived fifteen years in solitude,” said the 
hermit, “but have no desire that my example should gain 
any imitators. In my youth I professed arms, and was 
raised by degress to the highest military rank. I have 
traversed wide countries at the head of my troops, and 
seen many battles and sieges. At last, being disgusted 
by the preferments of a younger officer, and feeling that 
my vigor was beginning to decay, I resolved to close 
my life in peace, having found the world full of snares, 
discord, and misery. I had once escaped from the pur- 
suit of the enemy by the shelter of this cavern, and 
therefore chose it for my final residence. I employed 
artificers to form it into chambers, and stored it with all 
that I was likely to want. 

“For some time after my retreat I rejoiced like a tem- 
pest-beaten sailor at his entrance into the harbor, being 
delighted with the sudden change from the noise and 
hurry of war to stillness and repose. When the pleas- 
ures of novelty wore away, I employed my hours in ex- 
amining the plants which grew in the valley, and the 
minerals which I collected from the rocks. But that 
146 


RASSELAS. 


56 

inquiry is now grown tasteless and irksome. I have been 
for some time unsettled and distracted ; my mind is dis- 
turbed with a thousand perplexities of doubt and vanities 
of imagination, which hourly prevail upon me, because I 
have no opportunities of relaxation or diversion. I am 
sometimes ashamed to think that I could not secure my- 
self from vice but by retiring from the exercise of virtue, 
and begin to suspect that I was rather impelled by re- 
sentment than led by devotion into solitude. My fancy 
riots in scenes of folly, and I lament that I have lost so 
much and gained so little. In solitude, if I escape the 
example of bad men, I want likewise the counsel and 
conversation of the good. I have been long comparing 
the evils with the advantages of society, and resolve to 
return into the world to-morrow. The life of a solitary 
man will be certainly miserable, but not certainly devout.’’ 

They heard his resolution with surprise, but after a 
short pause offered to conduct him to Cairo. He dug up 
a considerable treasure which he had hid among the 
rocks, and accompanied them to the city, on which, as he 
approached it, he gazed with rapture. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE HAPPINESS OF A LIFE LED ACCORDING TO NATURE. 

Rasselas went often to an assembly of learned men, 
who met at stated times to unbend their minds, and com- 
pare their opinions. Their manners were somewhat 
coarse, but their conversation was instructive, and their 
disputations acute, though sometimes too violent, and 
often continued till neither controvertist remembered 
upon what question they began. Some faults were almost 
general among them ; everyone was desirous to dictate 
to the rest, and everyone was pleased to hear the genius 
or knowledge of another depreciated. 

147 


RASSELAS. 


57 

In this assembly Rasselas was relating his interview 
w r ith the hermit, and the wonder with which he heard 
him censure a course of life which he had so deliberately 
chosen and so laudably followed. The sentiments of the 
hearers were various. Some were of opinion that the 
folly of his choice had been justly punished by condem- 
nation to perpetual perseverance. One of the youngest 
among them, with great vehemence pronounced him a 
hypocrite. Some talked of the right of society to the 
labor of individuals, and considered retirement as a de- 
sertion from duty. Others readily allowed that there 
was a time when the claims of the public were satisfied, 
and when a man might properly sequester himself to re- 
view his life and purify his heart. 

One, who appeared more affected with the narrative 
than the rest, thought it likely that the hermit would in 
a few years go back to his retreat, and perhaps, if shame 
did not restrain or death intercept him, return once more 
from his retreat into the world. “For the hope of happi- 
ness,’’ said he, “is so strongly impressed that the longest 
experience is not able to efface it. Of the present state, 
whatever it be, we feel, and are forced to confess, the 
misety ; yet when the same state is again at a distance, 
imagination paints it as desirable. But the time will 
surely come when desire will be no longer our tormentor, 
and no man shall be wretched but by his own fault.” 

“This,” said a philosopher, who had heard him with 
tokens of great impatience, “is the present condition of a 
wise man. The time is already come when none are 
wretched but by their own fault. Nothing is more idle 
than to inquire after happiness, which nature has kindly 
placed within our reach. The way to be happy is to live 
according to nature, in obedience to that universal and 
unalterable law with which every heart is originally im- 
148 


rasselas. 


58 

pressed ; which is not written on it by precept, but en- 
graven by destiny, not instilled by education, but infused 
at our nativity. He that lives according to nature will 
suffer nothing from the delusions of hope or the impor- 
tunities of desire : he will receive and reject with equa- 
bility of temper, and act or suffer as the reason of things 
shall alternately prescribe. Other men may amuse them- 
selves with subtle definitions or intricate ratiocinations. 
Let them learn to be wise by easier means ; let them ob- 
serve the hind of the forest, and the linnet of the grove ; 
let them consider the life of animals, whose motions are 
regulated by instinct ; they obey their guide, and are 
happy. Let us therefore at length cease to dispute, and 
learn to live ; throw away the incumbrance of precepts, 
which they who utter them with pride and pomp do not 
understand, and carry with us this simple and intelligible 
maxim, that deviation from nature is deviation from 
happiness.” 

When he had spoken he looked round him with a 
placid air, and enjoyed the consciousness of his own be- 
neficence. “Sir,” said the prince, with great modesty, 
“as I, like all the rest of mankind, am desirous of felicit}', 
my closest attention has been fixed upon your discourse; 
I doubt not the truth of a position which a man so 
learned has so confidently advanced. Let me only know 
what it is to live according to nature ?” 

“When I find young men so humble and so docile,” 
said the philosopher, “I can deny them no information 
which my studies have enabled me to afford. To live ac- 
cording to nature is to act always with due regard to the 
fitness arising from the relations and qualities of causes 
and effects ; to concur with the great and unchangeable 
scheme of universal felicit}^ ; to co-operate with the gen- 
eral disposition and tendency of the present system of 
things.” 

149 


RASSELAS. 


59 

The prince soon found that this was one of the sages 
whom he should understand less as he heard him longer. 
He therefore bowed and was silent ; and the philosopher, 
supposing him satisfied, and the rest vanquished, rose up 
and departed with the air of a man that had co-operated 
with the present system. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE PRINCE AND HIS SISTER DIVIDE BETWEEN THEM THE 
WORK OF OBSERVATION. 

Rasselas returned home full of reflections, doubtful 
how to direct his future steps. Of the way to happiness 
he found the learned and simple equally ignorant ; but, 
as he was yet young, he flattered himself that he had time 
remaining for more experiments and further inquiries. 
He communicated to Imlac his observations and his 
doubts, but was answered by him with new doubts, and 
remarks that gave him no comfort. He therefore dis- 
coursed more frequently and freely with his sister, who 
had yet the same hope with himself, and always assisted 
him to give some reason why, though he had been hith* 
erto frustrated, he might succeed at last. 

“We have hitherto,” said she, “known but little of the 
world : we have never yet been either great or mean. In 
our own country, though we had royalty, we had no power ; 
and in this we have not yet seen the private recesses of do- 
mestic peace. Imlac favors not our search, lest we should in 
time find him mistaken. We will divide the task between 
us: you shall try what is to be found in the splendor of 
courts, and I will range in the shade of humbler life. Per- 
haps command and authority may be the supreme blessings, 
as they afford most opportunities of doing good ; or per- 
haps what this world can give may be found in the modest 
150 


6o 


EASSELAS. 


habitations of middle fortune ; too low for great designs, 
and to high for penury and distress.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE PRINCE EXAMINES THE HAPPINESS OF HIGH STATIONS. 

Rasselas applauded the design and appeared next day 
with a splendid retinue at the court of the Bassa. He 
was soon distinguished for his magnificence, and admitted, 
as a prince whose curiosity had brought him from distant 
countries to an intimacy with the great officers, and fre- 
quent conversation with the Bassa himself. 

He was at first inclined to believe that the man must 
be pleased with his own condition whom all approached 
with reverence and heard with obedience, and who had 
the power to extend his edicts to a whole kingdom. 
“There can be no pleasure,” said he, “equal to that of 
feeling at once the joy of thousands all made happy by 
wise administration. Yet, since by the law of subordina- 
tion this sublime delight can be in one nation but the lot 
of one, it is surely reasonable to think that there is some 
satisfaction more popular and accessible, and that millions 
can hardly be subjected to the will of a single man, only 
to fill his particular breast with incommunicable content.” 

These thoughts were often in his mind, and he found 
no solution of the difficulty. But as presents and civili- 
ties gained him more familiarity, he found that almost 
every man who stood high in employment hated all the 
rest, and was hated by them, and that their lives was a 
continual succession of plots and detections, strategems 
and escapes, faction and treachery. Many of those who 
surrounded the Bassa were sent only to watch and to re- 
port his conduct; every tongue was muttering censure, 
and every eye was searching for a fault. 

151 


RASSELAS. 


61 


At last the letters of revocation arrived, the Bassa was 
carried in chains to Constantinople, and his name was 
mentioned no more. 

u YVhat are we now to think of the prerogatives of 
power ?” said Rasselas to his sister ; “is it without any 
efficacy to good ? or is the subordinate degree only dan- 
gerous, and the supreme safe and glorious ? Is the Sul- 
tan the only happy man in his dominion ? or is the Sultan 
himself subject to the torments of suspicion, and the 
dread of enemies ?” 

In a short time the second Bassa was deposed. The 
Sultan that had advanced him was murdered b}^ the Jan- 
izaries, and his successor had other views and different 
favorites. 


CHAPTER XXY. 

THE PRINCESS PURSUES HER INQUIRY WITH MORE DILIGENCE 
THAN SUCCESS. 

The princess, in the mean time, insinuated herself into 
many families ; for there are few doors through which 
liberality, joined with good humor, cannot find its way. 
The daughters of many houses were airy and cheerful ; 
but Xekayah had been too long accustomed to the con- 
versation of Imlac and her brother to be much pleased 
with childish levity, and prattle which had no meaning. 
She found their thoughts narrow, their wishes low, and 
their merriment often artificial. Their pleasures, poor as 
they were, could not be preserved pure, but were embit- 
tered by petty competitions and worthless emulation. 
They were always jealous of the beauty of each other ; 
of a quality to which solicitude can add nothing, and from 
which detraction can take nothing away. Many were in 
love with triflers like themselves, and many fancied that 
* 5 * 


RASSELAS. 


62 

they were in love when in truth they were only idle. 
Their affection was not fixed 011 sense or virtue, and there- 
fore seldom ended but in vexation. Their grief, however, 
like their joy, was transient ; everything floated in their 
mind unconnected with the past or future, so that one 
desire easily gave way to another, as a second stone cast 
into the water effaces and confounds the circles of the first. 

With these girls she played as with inoffensive animals, 
and found them proud of her countenance, and weary of 
her company. 

But her purpose was to examine more deeply, and her 
affability easity persuaded the hearts that were swelling 
with sorrow to discharge their secrets in her ear ; and 
those whom hope flattered, or prosperity delighted, often 
courted her to partake of their pleasures. 

The princess and her brother commonly met in the 
evening in a private summer-house on the bank of the 
Nile, and related to each other the occurrences of the day. 
As they were sitting together, the princess cast her eyes 
upon the river that flowed before her. “Answer,” said she, 
“great father of waters, thou that rollest thy floods through 
eighty nations, to the invocations of the daughter of thy 
native king. Tell me if thou waterest through all thy 
course a single habitation from which thou dost not hear 
the murmurs of complaint ?” 

“You are, then,” said Rasselas, “not more successful 
in private houses than I have been in courts.” “I have, 
since the last partition of our provinces,” said the prin- 
cess, “enabled myself to enter familiarly into many fami- 
lies, where there was the fairest show of prosperity and 
peace, and know not one house that is not haunted by 
some fury that destroys their quiet. 

“I did not seek ease among the poor, because I con- 
cluded that there it couldn’t be found. But I saw many 
i53 


RASSELAS. 


63 

poor, whom I had supposed to live in affluence. Poverty 
has, in large cities, very different appearances; it is often 
concealed in splendor, and often in extravagance. It is 
the care of a great part of mankind to conceal their in- 
digence from the rest ; they support themselves by tem- 
porary expedients, and every day is lost in contriving 
for the morrow. 

“This, however, was an evil which, though frequent, I 
saw with less pain, because I could relieve it. Yet some 
have refused my bounties ; more offended with my quick- 
ness to detect their wants than pleased with my readiness 
to succor them ; and others, whose exigencies compelled 
them to admit my kindness, have never been able to for- 
give their benefactress. Many, however, have been sin- 
cerely grateful, without the ostentation of gratitude, or 
the hope of other favors.” 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

THE PRINCESS CONTINUES HER REMARKS UPON 
PRIVATE LIFE. 

Nekayah, perceiving her brother’s attention fixed, pro- 
ceeded in her narrative. 

“In families where there is or is not poverty, there is 
commonly discord ; if a kingdom be, as Imlac tells us, a 
great family, a family likewise is a little kingdom torn 
with factions and exposed to revolutions. An unprac- 
ticed observer expects the love of parents*and children 
to be constant and equal ; but this kindness seldom con- 
tinues beyond the years of infancy ; in a short time the 
children become rivals to their parents. Benefits are 
allayed by reproaches, and gratitude debased by envy. 

“Parents and children seldom act in concert; each 
i54 


EASSELAS 


64 

child endeavors to appropriate the esteem or fondness of 
the parents, and the parents, with less temptation, betray 
each other to their children ; thus some place their con- 
fidence in the father, and some in the mother, and by 
degrees the house is filled with artifices and feuds. 

“The opinions of children and parents, of the young 
and the old, are naturally opposite, by the contrary 
effects of hope and despondence, of expectation and ex- 
perience, without crime or folly on either side. The 
colors of life in youth and age appear different, as the face 
of nature in spring and winter. And how can children 
credit the assertions of parents, which their own eyes 
show them to be false ? 

“Few parents act in such a manner as to enforce their 
maxims by the credit of their lives. The old man trusts 
wholly to slow contrivance and gradual progression ; the 
youth expects to force his way by genius, vigor, and pre- 
cipitance. The old man pays regard to riches, and the 
youth reverences virtue. The old man defies prudence ; 
the youth commits himself to magnanimity and chance. 
The young man, who intends no ill, believes that none is 
intended, and therefore acts with openness and candor ; 
but his father, having suffered the injuries of fraud, is 
impelled to suspect, and is too often allured to practice 
it. Age looks with anger on the temerity of youth, and 
youth with contempt on the scrupulosity of age. Thus 
parents and children, for the greatest part, live on to 
love less and* less; and if those whom nature has thus 
closely united are the torments of each other, where 
shall we look for tenderness and consolation ? ” 

“Surely,” said the prince, “you must have been unfor- 
tunate in your choice of acquaintances: I am unwilling 
to believe that the most tender of all relations is thus 
impeded in its effects by natural necessity.” 
i55 


RASSELAS. 


65 

“Domestic discord,” answered she, “is not inevitably 
and fatally necessary; but yet it is not easy to avoid. 
We seldom see that a whole family is virtuous; the good 
and evil cannot well agree; and the evil can yet less 
agree with one another; even the virtuous fall sometimes 
into variance, when their virtues are of different kinds and 
tending to extremes. In general, those parents have ; 
most reverence who most deserve it : for he who lives 
well cannot be despised. 

“Many other evils infest private life. Some are the 
slaves of servants whom they have trusted with their af- 
fairs. Some are kept in continual anxiety by the ca- 
price of rich relations, whom they cannot please and dare 
not offend. Some husbands are imperious, and some 
wives perverse ; and as it is always more easy to do evil 
than good, though the wisdom or virtue of one can very 
rarely make many happy, the folly or vice of one may of- 
ten make many miserable.” 

“If such be the general effect of marriage,” said the 
prince, “I shall, for the future, think it dangerous to con- 
nect my interest with that of another, lest I should be 
unhappy by my partner’s fault.” 

“I have met,” said the princess, “with many who live 
single for that reason : but I have never found that their 
prudence ought to raise envv. They dream away their 
time without friendship, without fondness, and are driven 
to rid themselves of the day, for which they have no use, 
by childish amusements or vicious delights. They act 
as beings under the constant sense of some known in- 
feriority, that fills their minds with rancor and their 
tongues with censure. They are peevish at home, and 
malevolent abroad ; and, as the outlaws of human nature, 
make it their business and their pleasure to disturb that 
society which debars them from its privileges. To live • 
156 


RASSELAS. 


66 

without feeling or exciting sympathy, to be fortunate 
without adding to the felicity of others, or afflicted with- 
out tasting the balm of pity, is a state more gloomy than 
solitude ; it is not retreat, but exclusion from mankind. 
Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures.” 

“What, then, is to be done ?” said Rasselas, “the more 
we inquire the less we can resolve. Surely he is most 
likely to please himself that has no other inclination or 
regard.” 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

DISQUISITION UPON GREATNESS. 

The conversation had a short pause. The prince, hav- 
ing considered his sister’s observations, told her that she 
had surveyed life with prejudice, and supposed misery 
where she did not find it. “Your narrative,” says he, 
“throws yet a darker gloom upon the prospects of futuri- 
ty; the predictions of Imlac were but faint sketches of the 
evils painted by Nek ay ah. I have been lately convinced 
that quiet is not the daughter of grandeur or of power : 
that her presence is not to be bought by wealth, nor en- 
forced b}' conquest. It is evident, that as any man acts 
in a wider compass, he must be more exposed to opposi- 
tion from enmity, or miscarriage from chance ; whoever 
has many to please or to govern must use the ministry of 
many agents, some of whom will be wicked, and some ig- 
norant; by some he will be misled, and by others be- 
trayed. If he gratifies one, he will offend another ; those 
that are not favored will think themselves injured; and, 
since favors can be conferred but upon few, the greater 
number will be always discontented.” 

“The discontent,” said the princess, “which is thus 
unreasonable, I hope that I shall always have spirit to 
« despise, and your power to repress.” . 
i57 


RASSELAS. 


67 

“Discontent,” answered Rasselas, “ will not always be 
without reason under the most just and vigilant adminis- 
tration of public affairs. None, however attentive, can 
always discover that merit which indulgence or faction 
may happen to obscure ; and none, however powerful, can 
always reward it. Yet he that sees inferior desert ad- 
vanced above him will naturally impute that preference 
to partiality or caprice ; and indeed, it can scarcely be 
hoped that any man, however magnanimous by nature, or 
exalted by condition, will be able to persist forever in the 
fixed and inexorable justice of distribution ; he will some- 
times indulge his own affections, and sometimes those of 
his favorites ; he will permit some to please him who can 
never serve him; he will discover, in those whom he 
loves, qualities which in reality they do possess ; and to 
those from whom he receives pleasure, he will in his turn 
endeavor to give it. Thus will recommendations some- 
times prevail which were purchased by money, or by the 
more destructive bribery of flattery and servility. 

“He that has much to do will do something wrong, and 
of that wrong must suffer the consequences ; and if it 
were possible that he should always act rightly, yet when 
such numbers are to judge of his conduct, the bad will 
censure and obstruct him by malevolence, and the good 
sometimes by mistake. 

“The highest stations cannot therefore hope to be 
abodes of happiness, which I would willingly believe to 
have fled from thrones and palaces to seats of humble 
privacy and placid obscurity. For what can hinder the 
satisfaction, or intercept the expectations of him whose 
abilities are adequate to his employments, who sees with 
his own eyes the whole circuit of his influence, who 
chooses by his own knowledge all whom he trusts, and 
whom none are tempted to deceive by hope or fear? 

*58 


68 


RASSELAS. 


Surely he has nothing to do but to love and to be loved, 
to be virtuous, and to be happy.” 

“Whether perfect happiness would be procured by per- 
fect goodness,” said Nekayah, “this world will never af- 
ford an opportunity of deciding. But this, at least, may 
be maintained, that we do not always find visible happi- 
ness in proportion to visible virtue. All natural and al- 
most all political evils are incident alike to the bad and 
good : they are confounded in the misery of a famine, 
and not much distinguished in the fury of a faction ; they 
sink together in a tempest, and are driven together from 
their country by invaders. All that virtue can afford is 
quietness of conscience, a steady prospect of a happier 
state ; this may enable us to endure calamity with pa- 
tience, but remember that patience must oppose pain.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

RASSELAS AND NEKAYAH CONTINUE THEIR CONVERSATION. 

“Dear princess,” said Rasselas, “you fall into the 
common errors of exaggeratory declamation, by produc- 
ing, in a familiar disquisition, examples of national cal- 
amities and scenes of extensive misery, which are found 
in books rather than in the world, and which, as they are 
horrid, are ordained to be rare. Let us not imagine evils 
which we do not feel nor injure life by misrepresentations. 
I cannot bear that querulous eloquence which threatens 
every city with a siege like that of Jerusalem, that makes 
famine attend on every flight of locusts, and suspends 
pestilence on the wing of every blast that issues from the 
south. 

“On necessary and inevitable evils, which overwhelm 
kingdoms at once, all disputation is vain : when they 
happen, they must be endured. But it is evident that 
i59 


RASSELAS. 69 

these bursts of universal distress are more dreaded than 
felt ; thousands and ten thousands flourish in youth and 
wither in age, without the- knowledge of any other do- 
mestic evils, and share the same pleasures and vexations, 
whether their kings are mild or cruel, whether the armies 
of their country pursue their enemies or retreat before 
them. While courts are disturbed with intestine compe- 
titions, and ambassadors are negotiating in foreign coun- 
tries, the smith still plies his anvil, and the husbandman 
drives his plough forward : the necessities of life are re- 
quired and obtained ; and the successive business of the 
seasons continues to make its wonted revolutions. 

“Let us cease to consider what, perhaps, may never 
happen, and what, when it shall happen, will laugh at 
human speculation. We will not endeavor to modify the 
motions of the elements, or to fix the destiny of king- 
doms. It is our business to consider what beings like us 
may perform ; each laboring for his own happiness by 
promoting within his circle, however narrow, the happi- 
ness of others. 

“Marriage is evidently the dictate of nature ; men and 
women are made to be companions of each ‘other, and 
therefore I cannot be persuaded but that marriage is one 
of the means of happiness.” 

“I know not,” said the princess, “whether marriage be 
niore than one of the innumerable modes of human mis- 
ery. When I see and reckon the various forms of con- 
nubial infelicity, the unexpected causes of lasting discord, 
the diversities of temper, the oppositions of opinion, the 
rude collisions of contrary desire where both are urged 
by violent impulses, the obstinate contests of disagreeable 
virtues where both are supported by consciousness of 
good intention, I am sometimes disposed to think, with 
the severer casuists of most nations, that marriage is 
160 


70 RASSELAS. 

rather permitted than approved, and that none, but by 
the instigation of a passion too much indulged, entangle 
themselves with indissoluble compacts.” 

“You seem to forget,” replied Rasselas,“that 3 r ouhave, 
even now, represented celibacy as less happy than mar- 
riage. Both conditions may be bad, but they cannot 
both be worst. Thus it happens when wrong opinions 
are entertained, that they mutually destroy each other, 
and leave the mind open to truth.” 

“I did not expect,” answered the princess, “to hear 
that imputed to falsehood which is the consequence only 
of frailty. To the mind, as to the eye, it is difficult to com- 
pare with exactness objects vast in their extent, and var- 
ious in their parts. Where we see or conceive the whole 
at once, we readily note the discriminations, and decide 
the preference ; but of two systems, of which, neither can 
be surveyed by any human being in its full compass of 
magnitude and multiplicity of complication, where is the 
wonder that, judging of the whole by parts, I am alter- 
nately affected by one and the other, as either presses on 
my memory or fancy? We differ from ourselves just as 
we differ from each other, when we see only parts of the 
question, as in the multifarious relations of politics and 
morality ; but when we perceive the whole at once, as 
numerical computations, all agree in one judgment, and 
none ever varies his opinion.” 

“Let us not add,” said the prince, “to the other evils of 
life the bitterness of controversy, nor endeavor to vie 
with each other in subtleties of argument. We are em- 
ployed in a search, of which both are equally to enjoy 
the success, or suffer by the miscarriage. It is therefore 
fit that we assist each other. You surely conclude too 
hastily from the infelicity of marriage against its institu- 
tion : will not the misery of life prove equally that life 


RASSELAS. 


71 

cannot be the gift of Heaven ? The world must be peo- 
pled by marriage or peopled without it.” 

“How the world is to be peopled,” returned Nekayah, 
“is not my care, and need not be yours. I see no dan- 
ger that the present generation should omit to leave suc- 
cessors behind them : we are not now inquiring for the 
world, but for ourselves.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE DEBATE OF MARRIAGE CONTINUED. 

“The good of the whole,” says Rasselas, “is the same 
with the good of all its parts. If marriage be best for 
mankind, it must be evidently best for individuals, or a 
permamentand necessary duty must be the cause of evil, 
and some must be inevitably sacrificed to the convenience 
of others. In the estimate which you have made of the 
two states, it appears that the incommodities of a single 
life are, in a great measure, necessary and certain, but 
those of the conjugal state accidental and avoidable. 

“I cannot forbear to flatter myself that prudence and 
benevolence will make marriage happy. The general folly 
of mankind is the cause of general complaint. What can 
be expected but disappointment and repentance from a 
choice made in the immaturity of youth, in the ardor of 
desire, without judgment, without foresight, without in- 
quiry after conformity of opinions, similarity of manners, 
rectitude of judgment, or purity of sentiment? 

“Such is the common process of marriage. A youth 
or maiden meeting by chance, or brought together by 
artifice, exchange glances, reciprocate civilities, go home, 
and dream of one another. Having little to divert at- 
tention or diversify thought, they find themselves uneasy 
when they are apart, and therefore conclude that they 


1± KASSELAS. 

shall be happy together. They marry, and discover what 
nothing but voluntary blindness before had concealed : 
they wear out life in altercations, and charge nature with 
cruelty. 

“From those early marriages proceeds likewise the 
rivalry of parents and children; the son is eager to enjoy 
the world before the father is willing to forsake it, and 
there is hardly room at once for two generations. The 
daughter begins to bloom before the mother can be con- 
tent to fade, and neither can forbear to wish for the ab- 
sence of the other. 

“Surely all these evils maybe avoided by that delibera- 
tion and delay which prudence prescribes to irrevocable 
choice. In the variety and jollity of youthful pleasures 
life may be well enough supported without the help of a 
partner. Longer time will increase experience, and wider 
views will allow better opportunities of inquiry and se- 
lection. One advantage, at least, will be certain; the par- 
ents will be visibly older than their children.” 

“What reason cannot collect,” said Nekayah, “and 
what experiment has not yet taught, can be known only 
from the report of others, I have been told that late 
marriages are not eminently happy. This is a question 
too important to be neglected, and I have often proposed 
it to those whose accuracy of remark and comprehen- 
siveness of knowledge made their suffrages worthy of re- 
gard. They have generally determined that it is danger- 
ous for a man and woman to suspend their fate upon each 
other, at a time when opinions are fixed, and habits are 
established ; when friendships are contracted on both 
sides, when life has been planned into method, and the 
mind has long enjoyed the contemplation of its. own 
prospects. 

“It is scarcely possible that two, traveling through the 
163 


RASSELAS. 


73 

world under the conduct of chance, should have been 
both directed to the same path, and it will not often hap- 
pen that either will quit the track which custom has 
made pleasing. When the desultory levity of youth has 
settled into regularity, it is soon succeeded by pride 
ashamed to yield, or obstinacy delighting to contend. 
And even though mutual esteem produces mutual desire 
to please, time itself, as it modifies unchangeably the 
external mien, determines likewise the direction of the 
passions, and gives an inflexible rigidity to the manners. 
Long customs are not easily broken ; he that attempts to 
change the course of his own life very often labors in 
vain ; and how shall we do that lor others which we are 
seldom able to do for ourselves ?” 

“But surely,” interposed the prince, “you suppose the 
chief motive of choice forgotten or neglected. Whenever 
I shall seek a wife, it shall be my first question, whether 
she be willing to be led by reason ?” 

“Thus it is,” said Nekayah, “that philosophers are 
deceived. There are a thousand familiar disputes which 
reason never can decide; questions that elude investiga- 
tion, and make logic ridiculous; cases where something 
must be done, and where little can be said. Consider 
the state of mankind, and inquire how few can be sup- 
posed to act upon any occasions, whether small or great, 
with all the reasons for action present to their minds. 
Wretched would be the pair above all names of wretched- 
ness, who should be doomed to adjust by reason, every 
morning, all the minute details of a domestic day. 

“Those who marry at an advanced age will probably 
escape the encroachments of their children; but, in diminu- 
tion of this advantage, they will be likely to leave them, 
ignornant and helpless, to a guardian’s mercy ; or if that 

should not happen, they must at least go out of the: 

164 


RASSELAS . 


74 

world before they see those whom they love best either 
wise or great. 

“From their children, if they have less to fear, they 
have less also to hope ; and they lose, without equivalent, 
the joys of early love, and the convenience of uniting with 
manners pliant, and minds susceptible of new impressions 
which might wear away their dissimilitudes by long co- 
habitation; as soft bodies, by continual attrition, con- 
form their surfaces to each other. 

“I believe it will be found that those who marry late 
are best pleased with their children, and those who mar- 
ry early with their partners.” 

“The union of these two affections,” said Rasselas, 
“would produce all that could be wished. Perhaps there 
is a time when marriage might unite them, a time neither 
too early for the father, nor to late for the husband.” 

“Every hour,” answered the princess, “confirms my 
prejudice in favor of the position so often uttered by the 
mouth of Tmlac, ‘That nature sets her gifts on the right 
hand and on the left.’ Those conditions, which flatter 
hope and attract desire, are so constituted that, as we 
approach one, we recede from another. There are goods 
so opposed that we cannot seize both, but, by too much 
prudence, may pass between them at too great a distance 
to reach each other. This is often the fate of long con- 
sideration ; he does nothing who endeavors to do more 
than is allowed to humanity. Flatter not yourself with 
contrarieties of pleasure. Of the blessings set before you 
make your choice, and be content. No man can taste the 
fruits of autumn while he is delighting his scent with the 
flowers of spring ; no man can, at the same time, fill his 
cup from the source and from the mouth of the Nile.” 

165 


EASSELAS. 


75 


CHAPTER XXX. 

IMLAC ENTERS AND CHANGES THE CONVERSATION. 

Here Imlac entered and interrupted them. “Imlac,” 
said Rasselas, “I have been taking from the princess the 
dismal history of private life, and am almost discouraged 
from further search.” 

“It seems to me,” said Imlac, “that while you are 
making the choice of life, you neglect to live. You 
wander about a single city, which, however large and di- 
versified, can now afford few novelties, and forget that 
you are in a country famous among the earliest monar- 
chies for the power and wisdom of its inhabitants ; a 
country where the sciences first dawned that illuminate 
the world, and beyond which the arts cannot be traced 
of civil society or domestic life. 

“The old Egyptians have left behind them monuments 
of industry and power, before which all European mag- 
nificence is confessed to fade away. The ruins of their 
architecture are the schools of modern builders, and from 
the wonders which time has spared, we may conjecture, 
though uncertainly, what it has destroyed.” 

“My curiosity,” said Rasselas, “does not very strongly 
lead me to survey the piles of stone or mounds of earth; 
my business is with man. I came hither not to measure 
fragments of temples, or trace choked aqueducts, but to 
look upon the various scenes of the present world.” 

“The things that are now before us,” said the princess, 
“require attention and deserve it. What have I to do 
with the heroes or the monuments of ancient times ? with 
times which can never return, and heroes, whose form of 
life was different from all that the present condition of 
man requires or allows ?” 

“To know anything,” returned the poet, “we must 
1 66 


RASSELAS. 


76 

know its effects ; to see men we must see their works, 
that we may learn what reason has dictated, or passion 
has incited, and find what are the most powerful motives 
of action. To judge rightly of the present, we must op- 
pose it to the past ; for all judgment is comparative, 
and of the future nothing can be known. The truth is, 
that no mind is much employed upon the present ; recol- 
lection and anticipation fill up almost all our moments. 
Our passions are joy and grief, love and hatred, hope 
and fear. Of joy and grief the past is the object, and 
the future of hope and fear ; even love and hatred respect 
the past, for the cause must have been before the effect. 

‘'The present state of things is the consequence of the 
former, and it is natural to inquire what were the sources 
of the good that we enjoy, or the evil that we suffer. If 
we act only for ourselves, to neglect the study of history 
is not prudent; if we are intrusted with the care of 
others, it is not just. Ignorance, when it is voluntary, 
is criminal ; and he may be properly charged with evil 
who refused to learn how he might prevent it. 

“There is no part of history so generally useful as that 
which relates the progress of the human mind, the grad- 
ual improvement of reason, the successive advances of 
science, the vicissitudes of learning and ignorance, which 
are the light and darkness of thinking beings, the extinc- 
tion and resuscitation of arts, and the revolutions of the 
intellectual world. If accounts of battles and invasions 
are peculiarly the business of princes, the useful or 
elegant arts are not to be neglected ; those who have 
kingdoms to govern have understandings to cultivate. 

“Example is always more efficacious than precept. A 
soldier is formed in war, and a painter must copy 
pictures. In this, contemplative life has the advantage : 

great actions are seldom seen, but the labors of art are 
167 


RASSELAS. 77 

always at hand for those who desire to know what art 
has been able to perform. 

“When the eye or the imagination is stru'ck with an un- 
common work, the next transition of an active mind is to 
the means by which it was performed. Here begins the 
true use of such contemplation ; we enlarge our com- 
prehension by new ideas, and perhaps recover some art 
lost to mankind, or learn what is less perfectly known in 
our country. At least we compare our own with former 
times, and either rejoice at our improvements, or, what 
is the first motion towards good, discover our defects.” 

“I am willing,” said the prince, “to see all that can de- 
serve my search.” “And I,” said the princess, “shall re- 
joice to learn something of the manners of antiquity.” 

“The most pompous monument of Egyptian greatness, 
and one of the most bulky works of manual industry,” 
said Imlac, “are the Pyramids ; fabrics raised before the 
time of history, and of which the earliest narratives af- 
ford us only uncertain traditions. Of these the greatest 
is still standing, very little injured by time.” 

“Let us visit them to-morrow,” said Nekayah. “I have 
often heard of the Pyramids, and shall not rest until I 
have seen them within and without with m} r own eyes.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THEY VISIT THE PYRAMIDS. 

The resolution being taken, they set out the next day. 
They laid tents upon their camels, being resolved to stay 
among the Pyramids till their curiosity was fully satis- 
fied. They traveled gently, turned aside to everything 
remarkable, stopped from time to time and conversed with 
the inhabitants, and observed the various appearances of 
towns ruined and inhabited, of wild and cultivated nature. 

16a 


78 


RASSELAS. 


When they came to the great Pyramid, they were as- 
tonished at the extent of the base, and the height of the 
top. Imlac explained to them the principles upon which 
the pyramidal form was chosen for a fabric intended to 
co-extend its duration with that of the world ; he showed 
that its gradual diminution gave it such stability as de- 
feated all the common attacks of the elements, and could 
scarcely be overthrown by earthquakes themselves, the 
least resistible of natural violence. A concussion that 
should shatter the Pyramid would threaten the dissolution 
of the continent. 

They measured all its dimensions, and pitched their 
tents at its foot. Next day they prepared to enter its in- 
terior apartments ; and, having hired the common guides, 
climbed up to the first passage, when the favorite of the 
princess, looking into the cavity, stepped back and trem- 
bled. “Pekuah,” said the princess, “of what art thou 
afraid?” “Of the narrow entrance,” answered the lady, 
“and of the dreadful gloom. I dare not enter a place 
which must surely be inhabited by unquiet souls. The 
original possessors of these dreadful vaults will start up 
before us, and perhaps shut us in forever.” She spoke, 
and threw her arms round the neck of her mistress. 

“If all your fear be of apparitions,” said the prince, “I 
will promise you safety ; there is no danger from the 
dead ; he that is once buried will be seen no more.” 

“That the dead are seen no more,” said Imlac, “I will 
not undertake to maintain, against the concurrent and 
unvaried testimony of all ages and of all nations. There 
is no people, rude or learned, among whom apparitions 
of the dead are not related and believed. This opinion, 
which perhaps prevails as far as human nature is diffused, 
could become universal only b} T its truth ; those that never 
heard of one another would not have agreed in a tale 


RASSELAS. 


79 


which nothing but experience can make credible. That 
it is doubted by single cavillers can very little weaken 
the general evidence ; and some who deny it with their 
tongues confess it by their fears. 

“Yet I do not mean to add new terrors to those which 
have already seized upon Pekuah. There can be no rea- 
son why spectres should haunt the Pyramid more than 
other places, or why they should have power or will to 
hurt innocence and purity. Our entrance is no violation 
of their privileges ; we can take nothing from them, how 
then can we offend them ?” 

“My dear Pekuah,” said the princess, “I will always go 
before you, and Imlac shall follow you. Remember that 
you are the companion of the princess of Abyssinia.” 

“If the princess is pleased that her servant should die,” 
returned the lady, “let her command some death less 
dreadfui than enclosure in this horrid cavern ; you know 
I dare not disobey you ; I must go if you command me ; 
but, if I once enter, I never shall come back.” 

The princess saw that her fear was too strong for ex- 
postulation or reproof; and, embracing her, told her that 
she should stay in the tent till their return. Pekuah was 
yet not satisfied, but entreated the princess not to pursue 
so dreadful a purpose as that of entering the recesses of 
the Pyramid. “Though I cannot teach courage,” said 
Nekayah, “I must not learn cowardice ; nor leave at last 
undone what I came hither only to do.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THEY ENTER THE PYRAMID. 

Pekuah descended to the tents, and the rest entered 
the Pyramid : they passed through the galleries, surveyed 

the vaults of marble, and examined the chest in which the 
170 


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RASSELAS. 


body of the founder is supposed to have been deposited. 
They then sat down in one of the most spacious chambers 
to rest awhile before they attempted to return. 

“We have now,” said Imlac, “gratified our minds with 
an exact view of the greatest work of man, except the 
wall of China. 

“Of the wall it is very easy to assign the motive. It 
secured a wealthy and timorous nation from the incur- 
sions of barbarians, whose unskilfulness in the arts made 
it easier for them to supply their wants by rapine than by 
industry, and who from time to time poured in upon the 
habitations of peaceful commerce, as vultures descend 
upon domestic fowls. Their celerity and fierceness ren- 
dered the wall necessary, and their ignorance made it 
efficacious. 

“ But for the Pyramids no reason has ever been given 
adequate to the cost and labor of the work. The narrow- 
ness of the chambers proves that it could afford no retreat 
from enemies, and treasures might have been deposited 
at far less expense with equal securit}^. It seems to have 
been erected only in compliance with that hunger of ima- 
gination which preys incessantly upon life, and must be 
always appeased by some employment. Those who have 
already all that they can enjoj' must enlarge their desires. 
He that has built for use, till use is supplied, must begin 
to build for vanity, and extend his plan to the utmost 
power of human performance, that he may not be soon 
reduced to form another wish. 

“I consider this mighty structure as a monument of the 
insufficiency of human enjoyments. A king, whose power 
is unlimited, and whose treasures surmount all real and 
imaginary wants, is compelled to solace, by the erection 
of a Pyramid, the satiety of dominion and tastelessness 

of pleasures, and to amuse the tediousness of declining 
171 


RASSELAS. 


81 


life by seeing thousands laboring without end, and one 
stone, for no purpose, laid upon another. Whoever thou 
art that, not content with a moderate condition, imaginest 
happiness in royal magnificence, and dreamest that com- 
mand or riches can feed the appetite of novelty with per- 
petual gratifications, survey the Pyramids, and confess 
thy folly.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE PRINCESS MEETS WITH AN UNEXPECTED MISFORTUNE. 

They rose up, and returned through the cavity at which 
they had entered, and the princess prepared for her favor- 
ite a long narrative of dark labyrinths and costly rooms, 
and of the different impressions which the varieties of the 
way had made upon her. But when they came to their 
train, they found every one silent and dejected ; the men 
discovered shame and fear in their countenance, and the 
women were weeping in the tents. 

What had happened they did not try to conjecture, but 
immediate^ inquired. “You had scarcely entered into 
the Pyramid,” said one of the attendants, “when a troop 
of Arabs rushed upon us : we were too few to resist them, 
and too slow to escape. They were about to search the 
tents, set us on our camels, and drive us along before 
them, when the approach of some Turkish horsemen put 
them to flight ; but they seized the lady Pekuah with her 
two maids, and carried her away ; the Turks are now pur- 
suing them by our instigation, but I fear they will not be 
able to overtake them.” 

The princess was overpowered with surprise and grief. 
Rasselas, in the first heat of his resentment, ordered his 
servants to follow him, and prepared to pursue the rob- 
bers with his sabre in his hand. “Sir?” said Irnlac, “what 
172 


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RASSELAS. 


can you hope from violence or valor? The Arabs are 
mounted on horses trained to battle and retreat ; we have 
only beasts of burden. By leaving our present station 
we may lose the princess, but cannot hope to regain 
Pekuah.” 

In a short time the Turks returned, having not been 
able to reach the enemy. The princess burst out into 
new lamentations, and Rasselas could scarcely forbear to 
reproach them with cowardice ; but Imlac was of opinion 
that the' escape of the Arabs was no addition to their 
misfortune, for perhaps they would have killed their cap- 
tives rather than have resigned them. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

THEY RETURN TO CAIRO WITHOUT PEKUAH. 

There was nothing to be hoped from longer stay. 
They returned to Cairo, repenting of their curiosity, cen- 
suring the negligence of the government, lamenting their 
own rashness, which had neglected to procure a guard, 
imagining many expedients by which the loss of Pekuah 
might have been prevented, and resolving to do something 
for her recovery, though none could find anything proper 
to be done. 

Nekayah retired to her chamber, where her women at- 
tempted to comfort her by telling her that all had their 
troubles, and that lady Pekuah had enjoyed much happi- 
ness in the world for a long time, and might reasonably 
expect a change of fortune. They hoped that some good 
would befall her wheresoever she was, and that their mis- 
tress would find another friend who might supply her 
place. 

The princess made them no answer, and they contin- 
ued the form of condolence, not much grieved in their 
hearts that the favorite was lost, 
x 73 


RASSELAS. 


83 

Next day the prince presented to the Bassa a memorial 
of the wrong which he had suffered, and a petition for 
redress. The Bassa threatened to punish the robbers, 
but did not attempt to catch them, nor indeed could any 
account or description be given by which he might do so. 

It soon appeared that nothing would be done by author- 
ity. Governors being accustomed to hear of more crimes 
than they can punish, and more wrongs than they can re- 
dress, set themselves at ease by indiscriminate negligence, 
and presently forget the request when they lose sight of 
the petitioner. 

Imlac then endeavored to gain some intelligence by 
private agents. He found many who pretended to an 
exact knowledge of all the haunts of the Arabs, and to 
regular correspondence with their chiefs, and who readily 
undertook the recovery of Pekuah. Of these, some were 
furnished with money for their journey and came back no 
more ; some were liberally paid for accounts which a few 
days discovered to be false. But the princess would not 
suffer any means, however improbable, to be left untried. 
While she was doing something, she kept her hope alive. 
As one expedient failed, another was suggested ; when 
one messenger returned unsuccessful, another was des- 
patched to a different quarter. 

Two months had now passed, and of Pekuah nothing 
had been heard ; the hopes which they had endeavored to 
raise in each other grew more languid ; and the princess, 
when she saw nothing more to be tried, sunk down incon- 
solable in hopeless dejection. A thousand times she re- 
proached herself with the easy compliance by which she 
permitted her favorite to stay behind her. “Had not my 
fondness,” said she, “lessened my authority, Pekuah had 
not dared to talk of her terrors. She ought to have feared 
me more than spectres. A severe look would have over- 
174 


RASSELAS. 


84 

powered her ; a peremptory command would have com 
pelled obedience. Why did foolish indulgence prevail 
upon me? Why did I not speak, and refuse to hear ?” 

“Great princess,” said Imlac,“do not reproach yourself 
for your virtue, or consider that as blamable by which 
evil has accidentally been caused. Your tenderness for 
the timidity of Pekuah was generous and kind. When 
we act according to our duty, we commit tbe event to 
Him by whose laws our actions are governed, and who 
will suffer none to be finally punished for obedience. 
When, in prospect of some good, whether natural or 
moral, we break the rules prescribed us, we withdraw 
from the direction of superior wisdom, and take all con- 
sequences upon ourselves. Man cannot so far know the 
connection of causes and events, as that he may venture 
to do wrong in order to do right. When we pursue our 
end by lawful means, we may always console our miscar- 
riage by the hope of future recompense. When we con- 
sult only our own policy, and attempt to find a nearer 
way to good by over-leaping the settled boundaries of 
right and wrong, we cannot be happy even by success, 
because we cannot escape the consciousness of our fault : 
but, if we miscarry, the disappointment is irremediably 
imbittered. How comfortless is the sorrow of him who 
feels at once the pangs of guilt, and the vexation of ca- 
lamity which guilt has brought upon him ! 

“Consider, princess, what would have been your condi- 
tion, if the lady Pekuah had entreated to accompany, 
and, being compelled to stay in the tents, had been car- 
ried away ; or how you would have borne the thought if 
you had forced her into the Pyramid, and she had died 
before you in agonies of terror?” 

“Had either happened,” said Nekayah, “I could not 
have endured life till now : I should have been tortured 
i75 


RASSELAS. 85 

to madness by the remembrance of such cruelty, or must 
have pined away in abhorence of myself.” 

“This, at least,” said Imlac, “is the present reward of 
virtuous conduct, that no unlucky consequence can oblige 
us to repent it.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE PRINCESS LANGUISHES FOR WANT OF PEKUAH. 

Nekayah, being thus reconciled to herself, found that 
no evil is insupportable but that which is accompanied 
with consciousness of wrong. She was from that time 
delivered from the violence of tempestuous sorrow, and 
sunk into silent pensiveness and gloomy tranquility. 
She sat from morning to evening recollecting all that 
had been done or said by her Pekuah, treasured up with 
care every trifle on which Pekuah had set an accidental 
value, and which might recall to mind any little incident 
or careless conversation. The sentiments of her whom 
she now expected to see no more, were treasured in her 
memory as rules of life, and she deliberated to no other 
end than to conjecture on any occasion what would have 
been the opinion and counsel of Pekuah. 

The women by whom she was attended knew nothing 
of her real condition, and therefore she could not talk to 
them but with caution and reserve. She began to remit 
her curiosity, having no great desire to collect notions 
which she had not convenience of uttering. Rasselas 
endeavored first to comfort, and afterwards to divert her ; 
he hired musicians, to whom she seemed to listen, but did 
not hear them ; and procured masters to instruct her in 
various arts, whose lectures, when they visited her again, 
were again to be repeated. She had lost her taste of 
pleasure and her ambition of excellence. And her mind, 
176 


86 


EASSELAS. 


though forced into short excursions, always recurred to 
the image of her friend. 

Imlac was every morning earnestly enjoined to renew 
his inquiries, and was asked every night whether he had 
yet heard of Pekuah, till, not being able to return the 
princess the answer that she desired, he was less and less 
willing to come into her presence. She observed his 
backwardness and commanded him to attend her. “You 
are not,” said she, “to confound impatience with resent- 
ment, or to suppose that I charge you with negligence 
because I repine at your unsuccessfulness. I do not 
much wonder at your absence ; I know that the unhappy 
are never pleasing, and that all naturally avoid the conta- 
gion of misery. To hear complaints is wearisome alike 
to the wretched and the happy ; for who would cloud, by 
adventitious grief, the short gleams of gayety which life 
allows us ? or who, that is struggling under his own evils, 
will add to them the miseries of another ? 

“The time is at hand when none shall be disturbed any 
longer by the sighs of Nekayah ; my search after happi- 
ness is now at an end. I am resolved to retire from the 
world with all its flatteries and deceits, and will hide my- 
self in solitude without any other care than to compose 
my thoughts, and regulate my hours by a constant suc- 
cession of innocent occupations, till with a mind purified 
from all earthly desires, I shall enter into that state to 
which we are all hastening, and in which I hope again to 
enjoy the friendship of Pekuah.” 

“Do not entangle your mind,” said Imlac, “by irrevo- 
cable determinations, nor increase the burden of life by 
a voluntary accumulation of misery ; the weariness of 
retirement will continue to increase when the loss of Pe- 
kuah is forgotten. That you have been deprived of one 

pleasure is no very good reason for rejection of the rest.’’ 

177 


EASSELAS. 


8 7 

“Since Pekuak was taken from me,” said the princess, 
“I have no pleasure to reject or to retain. She that has 
no one to love or trust has little to hope. She wants the 
radical principle of happiness. We may, perhaps, allow, 
that what satisfaction this world can afford must arise 
from the conjunction of wealth, knowledge, and good- 
ness : wealth is nothing but as it is bestowed, and 
knowledge nothing but as it is communicated : they must 
therefore be imparted to others, and to whom could I 
now delight to impart them ? Goodness affords the only 
comfort which can be enjoyed without a partner, and 
goodness may be practiced in retirement.” 

“How far solitude may admit goodness, or advance it, 
I shall not,” replied Imlac, “dispute at present. Re- 
member the confession of the pious hermit. You will 
wish to return into the world when the image of your 
companion has left your thoughts.” “That time,” said 
Nekayah, “will never come. The generous frankness, the 
modest obsequiousness, and the faithful secrecy of my 
dear Pekuah will always be more missed as I shall live 
longer to see vice and folly.” 

“The state of a mind oppressed with a sudden calami- 
ty,” said [mlac, “is like that of the fabulous inhabitants 
of the new-created earth, who, when the first night came 
upon them, supposed that da} T would never return. When 
the clouds of sorrow gather over us, we see nothing 
beyond them, nor can imagine how they will be dispelled : 
yet a new day succeeded to the night, and sorrow is never 
long without a dawn of ease. But they who restrain 
themselves from receiving comfort do as the savages 
would have done, had they put out their eyes when it 
was dark. Our minds, like our bodies, are in continual 
flux ; something is hourly lost, and something acquired. 
To lose much at once is inconvenient to either, but while 
178 


8S 


RASSELAS. 


the vital powers remain uninjured, nature will find the 
means of reparation. Distance has the same effect on 
the mind as on the eye ; and while we glide along the 
stream of time, whatever we leave behind us is always 
lessening, and that which we approach increasing in 
magnitude. Do not suffer life to stagnate ; it will grow 
muddy for want of motion ; commit yourself again to the 
current of the world. Pekuah will vanish by degrees ; 
you will meet in your way some other favorite, or learn 
to diffuse yourself in general conversation.” 

“At least,” said the prince, “do not despair before all 
remedies have been tried ; the inquiry after the unfortu- 
nate lady is still continued, and shall be carried on with 
yet greater diligence, on condition that you will promise 
to wait a year for the event, without any unalterable res- 
olution.” 

Nekayah thought this a reasonable demand, and made 
the promise to her brother, who had been advised by Im- 
lac to require it. Imlac had, indeed, no great hope of 
regaining Pekuah ; but he supposed, that if he could 
secure the interval of a year, the princess would then 
be in no danger of a cloister. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

PEKUAH is still remembered, the progress op sorrow. 

Hekayah, seeing that nothing was omitted for the re- 
covery of her favorite, and having, by her promise, set 
her intention of retirement at a distance, began imper- 
ceptibly to return to common cares and common pleas- 
ures. She rejoiced. without her own consent at the sus- 
pension of her sorrows, and sometimes caught herself 
with indignation in the act of turning away her mind 
from the remembrance of her whom she yet resolved 
never to forget. 

179 


RASSELAS. 


89 

She then appointed a certain hour of the day for medi- 
tation on the merits and fondness of Pekuah, and for 
some weeks retired constantly at the time fixed, and re- 
turned with her eyes swollen and her countenance 
clouded. By degrees she grew less scrupulous, and suf- 
fered any important and pressing avocation to delay the 
tribute of daily tears. She then yielded to less occasions ; 
sometimes forgot what she was indeed afraid to remem- 
ber, and at last wholly released herself from the duty of 
periodical affliction. 

Her real love for Pekuah was not yet diminished. A 
thousand occurrences brought her back to memory, and 
a thousand wants, which nothing but the confidence of 
friendship can supply, made her frequently regretted. 
She therefore solicited Imlac never to desist from in- 
quiry, and to leave no art of intelligence untried, that at 
least she might have the comfort of knowing that she 
did not suffer by negligence or sluggishness. “Yet what,” 
said she, “is to be expected from our pursuit of happi- 
ness, when we find the state of life to be such that happi- 
ness itself is the cause of misery ? Why should we en- 
deavor to attain that of which the possession cannot be 
secured. I shall henceforward fear to yield my heart to 
excellence, however bright, or fondness, however tender, 
lest I should lose again what I have lost in Pekuah.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE PRINCESS HEARS NEWS OF PEKUAH. 

In seven months, one of the messengers, who had been 
sent away upon the day when the promise was drawn 
from the princess, returned, after many unsuccessful ram- 
bles, from the borders of Nubia, with an account that 
Pekuah was in the hands of an Arab chief, who possessed 
180 


9 ° 


EASSELAS. 


a castle or fortress on the extremity of Egypt. The Arab, 
whose revenue was plunder, was willing to restore her 
with her two attendants, for two hundred ounces of gold. 

The price was no subject of debate. The princess was 
in ecstasies when she heard that her favorite was alive, 
and might so cheaply be ransomed. She could not think 
of delaying for a moment Pekuah’s happiness or her own, 
but entreated her brother to send back the messenger 
with the sum required. Imlac being consulted, was not 
very confident of the veracity of the relator, and was still 
more doubtful of the Arab’s faith, who might, if he were 
too liberally trusted, detain at once the money and the 
captives. He thought it dangerous to put themselves in 
the power of the Arab by going into his district, and could 
not expect that the rover would so much expose himself 
as to come into the lower couutrj r , where he might be 
seized by the forces of the Bassa. 

It is difficult to negotiate where neither will trust. But 
Imlac, after some deliberation, directed the messenger to 
propose that Pekuah should be conducted by ten horse- 
men to the monastery of St. Anthony, which is situated 
in the deserts of Upper Egypt, where she should be met 
by the same number, and her ransom should be paid. 

That no time might be lost, as they expected that the 
proposal would not be refused, they immediately began 
their journey to the monastery ; and when they arrived, 
Imlac went forward with the former messenger to the 
Arab’s fortress. Rasselas was desirous to go with them ; 
but neither his sister nor Imlac would consent. The 
Arab, according to the custom of his nation, observed the 
laws of hospitality with great exactness to those who put 
themselves in his power, and in a few days brought Pek- 
uah with her maids, by easy journeys, to the place ap- 
pointed, where, receiving the stipulated price, he restored 


RASSELAS. 


91 


her with great respect to liberty and her friends, and 
undertook to conduct them back towards Cairo, beyond 
all danger*of robbery or violence. 

The princess and her favorite embraced each other with 
transport too violent to be expressed, and went out to- 
gether to pour the tears of tenderness in secret, and ex- 
change professions of kindness and gratitude. After a 
few hours they returned into the refectory of the convent, 
where, in the presence of the prior and his brethern, the 
prince required of Pekuali the history of her adventures. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE ADVENTURES OF THE LADY PEKUAH. 

“ At what time and in what manner I was forced away,” 
said Pekuali, “your servants have told you. The sudden- 
ness of the event struck me with surprise, and I was at 
first rather stupefied than agitated with any passion of 
either fear or sorrow. My confusion was increased by 
the speed and tumult of our flight while we were followed 
by the Turks, who, as it seemed, soon despaired to over- 
take us, or were afraid of those whom they made a show 
of menacing. 

“When the Arabs saw themselves out of danger they 
slackened their course, and as I was less harassed by ex- 
ternal violence, I began to feel more uneasiness in my 
mind. 

“After some time we stopped near a spring, shaded 
with trees, in a pleasant meadow, where we were set upon 
the ground, and offered such refreshments as our masters 
were partaking. I was suffered to sit with my maids 
apart from the rest, and none attempted to comfort or in- 
sult us. 

“Here I first began to feel the full weight of my misery. 

“The girls sat weeping in silence, and from time to 
182 


RASSElAS. 


92 

time looked on me for succor. I knew not to what con- 
dition we were doomed, nor could conjecture where 
would be the place of our captivity, or whence to draw 
any hope of deliverance. 

“I was in the hands of robbers and savages, and had 
no reason to suppose that their pity was more than their 
justice, or that they would forbear the gratification of any 
ardor of desire or caprice of cruelty. I, however, kissed 
my maids, and endeavored to pacify them by remarking 
that we were yet treated with decency, and that, since 
we were now carried beyond pursuit, there was no dan- 
ger of violence to our lives. 

“When we were to be set again on horseback, my maids 
clung round me, and refused to be parted, but I com- 
manded them not to irritate those who had us in their 
power. We traveled the remaining part of the day 
through an unfrequented and pathless country, and came 
by moonlight to the side of a hill, where the rest of the 
troops were stationed. 

“ Their tents were pitched and their fires kindled, and 
our chief was welcomed as a man much beloved by his 
dependants. 

“We were received into a large tent, where we found 
■women who had attended their husbands in the expedition. 

“ They set before us the supper which they had pro- 
vided, and I ate it rather to encourage my maids than to 
comply with any appetite of my own. When the meat 
was taken away they spread the carpets for repose. I 
was weary, and hoped to find in sleep that remission of 
distress which nature seldom denies. Ordering myself 
therefore to be undressed, I observed that the women 
looked very earnestly upon me, not expecting, I suppose, 
to see me so submissively attended. When my upper 
vest was taken off, they were apparently struck with the 


RASSELAS. 


93 

splendor of my clothes, and one of them timorously laid 
her hand upon the embroidery. She then went out, and 
in a short time came back with another woman, who 
seemed to be of higher rank and greater authority. She 
did, at her entrance, the usual act of reverence, and, tak- 
ing me by the hand, placed me in a smaller tent, spread 
with finer carpets, where I spent the night quietly with 
my maids. 

“ In the morning, as I was sitting on the grass, the 
chief of the troop came towards me. I rose up to re- 
ceive him, and he bowed with great respect. ‘Illustrious 
lady,’ said he, ‘my fortune is better than I had presumed to 
hope ; I am told by my women that I have a princess in 
my camp.’ ‘ Sir,’ answered I, ‘ your women have de- 
ceived themselves and } r ou ; I am not a princess, but an 
unhappy stranger who intended soon to have leftthis coun- 
try, in which I am now to be imprisoned forever.’ ‘Who- 
ever, or whencesoever you are,’ returned the Arab, ‘ your 
dress and that of your servants show your rank to be 
high, and j^our wealth to be great. Why should you, 
who can so easily procure your ransom, think yourself in 
danger of perpetual captivity ? The purpose of my incur- 
sions is to increase my riches, or, more properly, to gather 
tribute. The sons of Ishmael are the natural and heredi- 
tary lords of this part of the continent, which is usurped 
by the late invaders and low-born tyrants, from whom we 
are compelled to take by the sword what is denied to 
justice. The violence of war admits no distinction ; the 
lance that is lifted at guilt and power, will sometimes fall 
on innocence and gentleness.” 

“ ‘How little,’ said I, ‘ did I expect that yesterday it 
should have fallen upon me I ’ 

“ ‘ Misfortunes,’ answered the Arab, ‘ should always be 

expected. If the eye of hostility could learn reverence 
184 


94 


KASSEL 4S. 


or pity, excellence like yours had been exempt from in. 
jury. Bnt the angels of affliction spread their toils alike 
for the virtuous and the wicked, for the mighty and the 
mean. Do not be disconsolate : I am not one of the law- 
less and cruel rovers of the desert ; I know the rules of 
civil life : I will fix your ransom, give a passport to your 
messenger, and perform my stipulation with nice punctu- 
ality.’ 

“‘You will easily believe that I was pleased with his 
courtesy, and finding that his predominate passion was 
desire of money, I began now to think my danger less, 
for I knew that no sum would be thought too great for 
the release of Pekuali. I told him that he should have 
no reason to charge me with ingratitude if I was used 
with kindness, and that any ransom which could be expected 
from a maid of common rank would be paid, but that he 
must not persist to rate me as a princess. He said he 
would consider what he should demand, and then, smiling, 
bowed and retired. 

“ Soon after the women came about me, each contend- 
ing to be more officious than the other, and my maids 
themselves were served with reverence. We traveled 
onward by short journeys. On the fourth day the chief 
told me that my ransom must be two hundred ounces of 
gold ; which I not only promised him, but told him that 
I would add fifty more if I and my maids were honor- 
ably treated. 

“ I never knew the power of gold before. From that 
time I was the leader of the troop. The march of every 
day was longer or shorter as I commanded, and the tents 
were pitched where I chose to rest. We now had camels 
and other conveniences for travel, my own women were 
always at my side, and I mused myself with observing 
the manners of the vagrant nations, and with viewing 


RASSELAS . 


95 

remains of ancient edifices, with which these deserted 
countries appear to have been, in some distant age, 
lavishly embellished. 

“ The chief of the band was a man far from illiterate : 
he was able to travel by the stars or the compass, and 
had marked, in his erratic expeditions, such places as are 
most worthy the notice of a passenger. He observed to 
me that buildings are always best preserved in places little 
frequented and difficult of access ; for, when once a 
country declines from its primitive splendor, the more 
inhabitants are left, the quicker ruin will be made. W alls 
supply stones more easily than quarries, and palaces and 
temples will be demolished to make stables of granite 
and cottages of porphyry.’ ” 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE ADVENTURES OP PEKUAH CONTINUED. 
u We wandered about in this manner for some weeks, 
whether, as our chief pretended, for my gratification, or, 
as I rather suspected, for some convenience of his own. 
I endeavored to appear contented where sullenness and 
resentment would have been of no use, and that endeavor 
conduced much to the calmness of my mind ; but my heart 
was always with Nekayah, and the troubles of the night 
much overbalanced the amusements of the day. My 
women, who threw all their cares upon their mistress, set 
their minds at ease from the time when they saw me treated 
with respect, and gave themselves up to the incidental 
alleviations of our fatigue without solicitude or sorrow. 
I was pleased with their pleasure, and animated with their 
confidence. My condition had lost much of its terror, 
since I found that the Arab ranged the country merely 
for riches. Avarice is a uniform and tractable vice : other 
intellectual distempers are different in different constitu- 
te 


RASSELAS. 


96 

tions of mind ; that which soothes the pride of one will 
offend the pride of another ; but to the favor of the 
covetous there is a ready way — bring money, and nothing 
is denied. 

“ At last we came to the dwelling of our chief, a strong 
and spacious house built with stone in an island of the 
Nile, which lies, as I was told, under the tropic. ‘ Lady, 7 
said the Arab, ‘you shall rest after your journey a few 
weeks in this place, where you are to consider yourself 
as sovereign. My occupation is war : I have therefore 
chosen this obscure residence, from which I can issue 
unexpected, and to which I can retire unpursued. You 
may now repose in security : here are few pleasures, but 
here is no danger.’ He then led me into the inner apart- 
ments, and, seating me on the richest couch, bowed to the 
ground. His women, who considered me as a rival, 
looked on me with malignity ; but being soon informed 
that I was a great lady detained only for my ransom, 
they began to vie with each other in obsequiousness and 
reverence. 

“ Being again comforted with new assurances of speedy 
liberty, I was for some days diverted from impatience by 
the novelty of the place. The turrets overlooked the 
country to a great distance, and afforded a view of many 
windings of the stream. In the day I wandered from 
one place to another, as the course of the sun varied the 
splendor of the prospect, and saw many things which I 
had never seen before. The crocodiles and river-horses 
are common in this unpeopled region, and I often looked 
upon them with terror, though 1 knew that they could 
not hurt me. For some time I expected to see mermaids 
and tritons, as Imlac had told me the European travel- 
ers have stationed in the Nile ; but no such beings 
ever appeared, and the Arab, when I inquired after them, 
laughed at my credulity. 

187 


EASSELAS. 


97 

“At night the Arab always attended me to a tower set 
apart for celestial observations, where he endeavored to 
teach me the names and courses of the stars. I had no 
great inclination to this study, but an appearance of at- 
tention was necessary to please my instructor, who valued 
himself for his skill, and in a little while I found some 
employment requisite to beguile the tediousness of time, 
which was to be passed always amidst the same objects. 
I was weary of looking in the morning on things from 
which I had turned away weary in the evening; I there- 
fore was at last willing to observe the stars rather than 
do nothing, but could not always compose my thoughts, 
and was very often thinking on Nekayah, when others 
imagined me contemplating the sky. Soon after the Arab 
went upon another expedition, and then my only pleasure 
was to talk with my maids about the accident by which 
we were carried away, and the happiness that we should 
all enjoy at the end of our captivity.” 

“There were women in your Arab’s fortress,” said the 
princess, “why did you not make them your companions, 
enjoy their conversation, and partake of their diversions ? 
In a place where they found business or amusement, why 
should you alone sit corroded with idle melancholy ; or 
why could not you bear for a few months that condition 
to which they are condemned for life ?” 

“The diversions of the women,” answered Pekaah, 
“were only childish play, by which the mind, accustomed 
to stronger operations, could not be kept busy. I could 
do all which they delighted in doing by powers merely 
sensitive, while my intellectual faculties were flown to 
Cairo. They ran from room to room, as a bird hops from 
wire to wire in his cage. They danced for the sake of 
motion, as lambs frisk in a meadow. One sometimes pre- 
tended to be hurt, that the rest might be alarmed ; or hid 
1 83 


EASSELAS. 


98 

herself, that another might seek her. Part of their time 
passed in watching the progress of light bodies that 
floated on the river, and part in marking the various forms 
into which clouds broke in the sky. 

“Their business was only needlework, in which I and 
my maids sometimes helped them ; but you know that 
the mind will easily straggle from the fingers, nor will 
you suspect that captivity and absence from Nekayah 
could receive solace from silken flowers. 

“Nor was much satisfaction to be hoped from their 
conversation ; for of what could they be expected to talk? 
They had seen nothing : for they had lived from early 
youth in that narrow spot. Of what they had not seen they 
could have no knowledge, for they could not read. They 
had no ideas but of the few things that were within their 
view, and had hardly names for anything but their clothes 
and their food. As I bore a superior character, I was 
often called to terminate their quarrels, which I decided 
as equitably as I could. If it could have amused me to 
hear the complaints of each against the rest, I might have 
been often detained by long stories ; but the motives of 
their animosity were so small that I could not listen 
without interrupting the tale.” 

“How,” said Rasselas, “can the Arab, whom you repre> 
sented as a man of more than common accomplishments, 
take any pleasure in his seraglio, when it is filled only 
with women like these? Are they exquisitely beautiful?” 

“They do not,” said Pekuah, “want that unaffecting 
and ignoble beauty which may subsist without sprightli- 
ness or sublimity, without energy of thought or dignity 
of virtue. But to a man like the Arab such beauty was 
only a flower casually plucked and carelessly thrown 
away. Whatever pleasures he might find among them, 
they were not those of friendship or society. When they 


RASSELAS. 


99 

were playing about him, he looked on them with inat- 
tentive superiority ; when they vied for his regard, he 
sometimes turned away disgusted. As they had no 
knowledge, their talk could take nothing from the ted- 
iousness of life ; as they had no choice, their fondness, or 
appearance of fondness, excited in him neither pride nor 
gratitude ; he was not exalted in his own esteem by the 
smiles of a woman who saw no other man, nor was much 
obliged by that regard, of which he could never know the 
sincerity, and which he might often perceive to be exert- 
ed, not so much to delight him as to pain a rival. That 
which he gave, and they received, as love, was only a 
careless distribution of superfluous time, such love as man 
can bestow upon that which he despises, such as has 
neither hope nor fear, neither joy nor sorrow.’’ 

“You have reason, lady, to think yourself happy,” said 
Imlac, “that you have been thus easily dismissed. How 
could a mind, hungry for knowledge, be willing, in an 
intellectual famine, to lose such a banquet as Pekuah’s 
conversation ?” 

“I am inclined to believe,” answered Pekuah, “that he 
was for some time in suspense ; for notwithstanding his 
promise, whenever I proposed to dispatch a messenger 
to Cairo, he found some excuse for delay. While I was 
detained in his house he made many excursions into the 
neighboring countries, and perhaps he would have re- 
fused to discharge me had his plunder been equal to his 
wishes. He returned always courteous, related his ad- 
ventures, delighted to hear my observations, and endeav- 
ored to advance my acquaintance with the stars. When 
I importuned him to send away my letters, he soothed me 
with professions of honor and sincerity : and when I 
could be no longer decently denied, put his troop again 

in motion, and left me to govern in his absence. I was 
190 


IOO 


KASSELAS. 


much afflicted by this studied procrastination, and was 
sometimes afraid that I should be forgotten ; that you 
would leave Cairo, and I must end my days in an island. 

“I grew at last hopeless aud dejected, and cared so lit- 
tle to entertain him that he for a while more frequently 
talked with my maids. That he should fall in love with 
them, or with me, might have been equally fatal, and I 
was not much pleased with the growing friendship. My 
anxiety was not long ; for, as I recovered some degree of 
cheerfulness, he returned to me, and I could not forbear 
to despise my former uneasiness. 

“He still delayed to send for my ransom, and would, 
perhaps, never have determined, had not your agent 
found his way to him. The gold which he would not 
fetch, he could not reject when it was offered. He has- 
tened to prepare for our journey hither, like a man de- 
livered from the pain of an intestine conflict. I took 
leave of my companions in the house, who dismissed me 
with cold indifference.” 

Nekayah, having heard her favorite’s relation, rose and 
embraced her ; and Rasselas gave her a hundred ounces 
of gold, which she presented to the Arab for the fifty 
that were promised. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE HISTORY OF A MAN OF LEARNING. 

They returned to Cairo, and were so well pleased at 
finding themselves together that none of them went much 
abroad. 

The prince began to love learning, and one day de- 
clared to Tmlac, that he intended to devote himself to 
science, and pass the rest of his days in literary solitude. 

“Before you make your final choice,” answered Imlac, 


KASSELAS. 


IOI 

“you ought to examine its hazards, and converse with 
some of those who have grown old in the company of 
themselves. 1 have just left the observatory of one of 
the most learned astronomers in the world, who has spent 
forty years in unwearied attention to the motions and 
appearances of the celestial bodies, and has drawn out his 
soul in endless calculations. He admits a few friends 
once a month to hear his deductions and enjoy his dis- 
coveries. I was introduced as a man of knowledge 
worthy of his notice. Men of various ideas and fluent 
conversation are commonly welcome to those whose 
thoughts have been long fixed upon a single point, and 
who find the images of other things stealing away. I 
delighted him with my remarks ; he smiled at the narra- 
tive of my travels, and was glad to forget the constella- 
tions, and descend for a moment into the lower world. 

“On the next day of vacation I renewed my visit, and 
was so fortunate as to please him again. He relaxed from 
that time the severity of his rule, and permitted me to 
enter at my own choice. I found him always busy, and 
always glad to be relieved. As each knew much that 
the other was desirous of learning, we exchanged our 
notions with great delight. I perceived that I had every 
day more of his confidence, and always found new cause 
for admiration in the profundity of his mind. His com- 
prehension is vast, his memory is capacious and retentive, 
his discourse is methodical, and his expression clear. 

“His integrity and benevolence are equal to his learn- 
ing. His deepest researches and most favorite studies 
are willingly interrupted for an opportunity of doing 
good by his counsel or his riches. To his closest retreat, 
at his most busy moments, all are admitted that want his 
assistance ; ‘For, though I exclude idleness and pleas- 
ure, I will never,’ says he, ‘bar my doors against charity. 

192 


102 


KASSELAS. 


To man is permitted the contemplation of the skies, but 
the practice of virtue is commanded.” 

“Surely,” said the princess, “this man is happy.” 

“I visited him,” said Imlac, “with more and more fre- 
quency, and was every time more enamored of his con- 
versation ; he was sublime without haughtiness, courteous 
without formality, and communicative without ostenta- 
tion. I was at first, great princess, of your opinion; 
thought him the happiest of mankind, and often congratu- 
lated him on the blessing that he enjoyed. He seemed to 
hear nothing with indifference but the praises of his con- 
dition, to which he always returned a general answer, and 
diverted the conversation to some other topic. 

“Amidst this willingness to be pleased and labor to 
please, I had quickly reason to imagine that some pain- 
ful sentiment pressed upon his mind. He often looked 
up earnestly towards the sun, and let his voice fall in the 
midst of his discourse. He would sometimes, when we 
were alone, gaze upon me in silence with the air of a man 
who longed to speak what he was yet resolved to sup- 
press. He would often send for me, with vehement in- 
junctions of haste, though, when I came to him, he had 
nothing extraordinary to say. And sometimes, when I 
was leaving him, he would call me back, pause a few mo- 
ments, and then dismiss me.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

THE ASTRONOMER DISCOVERS THE CAUSE OP UNEASINESS. 

“At last the time came when the secret burst his reserve. 
We were sitting together last night in the turret of his 
house, watching the immersion of a satellite of Jupiter. 
A sudden tempest clouded the sky, and disappointed 
our observation. We sat awhile silent in the dark, and 


RASSELAS. 


103 

then he addressed himself to me in these words ; 1 Imlac, 

I have long considered thy friendship as the greatest 
blessing of my life. Integrity without knowledge is 
weak and useless, and knowledge without integrity is 
dangerous and dreadful. I have found in thee all the 
qualities requisite for trust, benevolence, experience, and 
fortitude. I have long discharged an office which I must 
soon quit at the call of nature, and shall rejoice, in the 
hour of imbecility and pain, to devolve it upon thee. 7 77 

“ I thought myself honored by this testimony, and 
protested, that whatever would conduce to his happiness 
would add likewise to mine. 

“ ‘Hear, Imlac, what thou wilt not without difficulty 
credit. I have possessed for five years the regulation of 
the weather and the distribution of the seasons ; the sun 
has listened to my dictates, and passed from tropic to 
tropic by my direction ; the clouds, at my call, have 
poured their waters, and the Nile has overflowed at my 
command ; I have restrained the rage of the dog-star, 
and mitigated the fevers of the crab. The winds alone, 
of all the elemental powers, have hitherto refused my 
authority, and multitudes have perished by equinoctial 
tempests which I have found myself unable to prohibit or 
restrain. I have administered this great office with exact 
justice, and to make the different nations of the earth an 
impartial dividend of rain and sunshine. What must 
have been the misery of half the globe if I had limited 
the clouds to particular regions, or confined the sun to 
either side of the equator ? 1 


194 


104 


XASS&LAS. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

THE OPINION OF THE ASTRONOMER IS EXPLAINED AND 
JUSTIFIED. 

“ I suppose he discovered in me, through the obscurity 
of the room, some tokens of amazement and doubt, for, 
after a short pause, he proceeded thus : 

Not to be easily credited will neither surprise nof 
offend me ; for I am probably the first of human beings 
to whom this trust has been imparted. Nor do I know 
whether to deem the distinction a reward or punishment ; 
since I have possessed it I have been far less happy than 
before, and nothing but the consciousness of good inten- 
tion could have enabled me to support the weariness of 
unremitted vigilance.’ 

“ ‘ How long, sir, said 1 , 1 has this great office been ill 
your hands ? ’ 

“ 4 About ten years ago,’ said he, 4 my daily observe 
tions of the changes of the sky led me to consider 
whether, if I had the power of the seasons, I could con- 
fer greater plenty upon the inhabitants of the earth. This 
contemplation fastened upon my mind, and I sat days 
and nights in imaginary dominion, pouring upon this 
country and that the showers of fertility, and seconding 
every fall of rain with a due proportion of sunshine. I 
had yet only the will to do good, and did not imagine 
that I should ever have the power.” 

44 1 One day, as I was looking on the fields withering 
with heat, I felt in my mind a sudden wish that I could 
send rain on the southern mountains, and raise the Nile 
to an inundation. In the hurry of my imagination I 
commanded rain to fall ; and by comparing the time of my 
command with that of the inundation, I found that the 
clouds had listened to my lips.’ 

*95 


RASSELAS. 


105 

“ ‘ Might not some other cause,’ ‘ said 1, ‘ produce this 
concurrence? the Nile does not always rise on the same 
day.’ 

“ ‘ Do not believe,’ said he with impatience, ‘ that such 
objections could escape me : I reasoned long against my 
own conviction, and labored against truth with the 
utmost obstinacy. I sometimes suspected myself of 
madness, and should not have dared to impart this secret 
but to a man like you, capable of distinguishing the 
wonderful from the impossible, and the incredible from 
the false.’ 

‘“Why, sir,’ said I, ‘do you call that incredible which 
you know, or think you know, to be true?’ 

“ ‘Because,’ said he, ‘I cannot prove it by any external 
evidence ; and I know too well the laws of demonstra- 
tion to think that my conviction ought to influence 
another, who cannot, like me, be conscious of its force. 
I therefore shall not attempt to gain credit by disputa- 
tion. It is sufficient that I feel this power, that I have 
long possessed, and every day exerted it. But the life of 
man is short, the infirmities of age increase upon me, 
and the time will soon come when the regulator of the 
year must mingle with the dust. The care of appointing 
a successor has long disturbed me ; the night and day 
have been spent in comparisons of all the characters 
which have come to my knowledge, and I have yet found 
none so worthy as thyself.’ ” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE ASTRONOMER LEAVES IMLAC HIS DIRECTIONS. 

“ ‘Hear, therefore, what I shall impart with attention, 
such as the welfare of a world requires. If the task of a 
king be considered as difficult, who has the care only of 
196 


io6 


RASSELAS. 


a few millions, to whom he cannot do much good or 
harm, what must be the anxiety of him, on whom depends 
the action of the elements, and the great gifts of light 
and heat ? Hear me, therefore, with attention. 

“ ‘I have diligently considered the position of the earth 
and sun, and formed innumerable schemes in which I 
changed their situation. I have sometimes turned aside 
the axis of the earth, and sometimes varied the ecliptic of 
the sun : but I have found it impossible to make a dispo- 
sition by which the world may be advantaged ; what one 
region gains another loses by an imaginable alternation, 
even without considering the distant parts of the solar 
system with which we are acquainted. Do not, therefore 
in thy administration of the year, indulge thy pride by 
innovation ; do not please thyself with thinking that thou 
canst make thyself renowned to all future ages by dis- 
ordering the seasons. The memory of mischief is no de- 
sirable fame. Much less will it become thee to let kind- 
ness or interest prevail. Never rob other countries of rain 
to pour it on thine own. For us the Nile is sufficient.’ 

“I promised, that when I possessed the power, I would 
use it with inflexible integrity, and he dismissed me, 
pressing my hand. ‘My heart,’ said he, ‘will be now at 
rest, and my benevolence will no more destroy my quiet; 
I have found a man of wisdom and virtue, to whom I can 
cheerfully bequeath the inheritance of the sun.” 

The prince heard this narration with very serious re- 
gard ; but the princess smiled, and Pekuah convulsed 
herself with laughter. “Ladies,” said Imlac, “to mock 
the heaviest of human afflictions is neither charitable nor 
wise. Few can attain this man’s knowledge, and few 
practise his virtues ; but all may suffer his calmity. Of 
the uncertainties of our present state, the most dreadful 

and alarming is the uncertain continuance of reason.” 

197 


RASSELAS . 


107 


The princess was recollected, and the favorite was 
abashed. Rasselas, more deeply affected, inquired of 
|Imlac whether he thought such maladies of the mind fre- 
quent, and how they were contracted? 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE DANGEROUS PREVALENCE OF IMAGINATION. 

“Disorders of intellect,” answered Imlac, “happen much 
more often than superficial observers will easily believe. 
Perhaps, if we speak with rigorous exactness, no-human 
mind is in its right state. There is no man whose imagi- 
nation does not sometimes predominate over his reason, 
who can regulate his attention wholly by liis will, and 
whose ideas will come and go at his command. No man 
will be found in whose mind airy notions do not some- 
times tyrannize, and force him to hope or fear beyond the 
limits of sober probability. All power of fancy over rea- 
son is a degree of insanity ; but while this power is such 
as we can control and repress, it is not visible to others, 
nor considered as any deprivation of the mental faculties. 
It is not pronounced madness but when it becomes un- 
governable, and apparently influences speech or action. 

“To indulge the power of fiction, and send imagination 
out upon the wing, is often the sport of those who delight 
too much in silent speculation. When we are alone we 
are not always busy ; the labor of excogitation is too vio- 
lent to last long ; the ardor of inquiry will sometimes 
give way to idleness or satiety. He who has nothing ex- 
ternal that can divert him must find pleasure in his own 
thoughts, and must conceive himself what he is not ; for 
who is pleased with what he is ? He then expatiates in 
boundless futurity, and calls from all imaginable condi- 
tions that which for the present moment he should most 
198 


ioS 


RASSELAS. 


desire, amuses his desires with impossible enjoyments, 
and confers upon his pride unattainable dominion. The 
mind dances from scene to scene, unites all pleasures in 
all combinations, and riots in delights which nature and 
fortune, with all their bounty, cannot bestow. 

“In time some particular train of ideas fixes the atten- 
tion ; all other intellectual gratifications are rejected ; the 
mind, in weariness or leisure, recurs constantly to the 
favorite conception, and feasts on the luscious falsehood 
whenever she is offended with the bitterness of truth. 
By degrees the reign of fancy is confirmed ; she grows 
first imperious, and in time despotic. Then fictions be- 
gin to operate as realities, false opinions fasten upon the 
mind, and life passes in dreams of rapture or of anguish. 

“This, sir, is one of the dangers of solitude, which the 
hermit has confessed not always to promote goodness, 
and the astronomer’s misery has proved to be not always 
propitious to wisdom.” 

“I will no more,” said the favorite, “imagine myself the 
queen of Abyssina. I have often spent the hours which 
the princess gave to my own disposal, in adjusting cere- 
monies and regulating the court; I have repressed the 
pride of the powerful, and granted the petitions of the 
poor ; I have built new palaces in more happy situations, 
planted groves upon the tops of mountains, and have ex- 
aulted in the beneficence of royality, till, when the princes 
entered, I had almost forgotten to bow down before her.” 

“And I,” said the princess, “will not allow myself any 
more to play the shepherdess in my waking dreams. I 
have often soothed my thoughts with the quiet and in- 
nocence of pastoral employments, till I have, in my 
chamber, heard the winds whistle and the sheep bleat: some 
times freed the lamb entangled in the thicket, and some- 
times with my crook encountered the wolf. I have a 
199 


RASSELAS. 


109 

dress like that of the village maids, which I put onto help 
my imagination, and a pipe, on which I play softly, and 
suppose myself followed by my flocks.” 

“I will confess,” said the prince, “an indulgence of fan- 
tastic delight more dangerous than yours. I have fre- 
quently endeavored to image the possibility of a perfect 
government, by which all wrong should be restrained, all 
vice reformed, and all the subjects preserved in tranquility 
and innocence. This thought produced innumerable 
schemes of reformation, and dictated many useful regu- 
lations and salutary edicts. This has been the sport, and 
sometimes the labor, of my solitude ; and I .start, when I 
think with how little anguish I once supposed the death 
of my father and my brothers.” 

“Such,” says Imlac, “are the effect of visionary 
schemes. When we first form them we know them to be 
absurd, but familiarize them by degrees, and in time lose 
sight of their folly.” 

CHAPTER XLV. 

THEY DISCOURSE WITH AN OLD MAN. 

The evening was now far passed, and they rose to re- 
turn home. As they walked along the bank of the Nile, 
delighted with the beams of the moon quivering on the 
water, they saw at a small distance an old man, whom the 
prince had often heard in the assembly of the sages. 
“Yonder,” said he, “is one whose years have calmed his 
passions, but not clouded his reason : let us close the 
disquisitions of the night by inquiring what are his sen- 
timents of his own state, that we may know whether youth 
alone is to struggle with vexation, and whether any better 
hope remains for the latter part of life.” 

Here the sage approached and saluted them. They in- 
vited him to join their walk, and prattled awhile, as ac- 
200 


no 


RASSELAS. 


quaintances that had unexpectedly met one another. 
The old man was cheerful and talkative, and the way 
seemed short in his company. He was pleased to find 
himself not disregarded, accompanied them to their 
house, and, at the prince’s request, entered with them. 
They placed him in the seat of honor, and set wine and 
conserves before him. 

“Sir,” said the princess, “an evening walk must give to 
a man of learning like you, pleasures which ignorance and 
youth can hardly conceive. You know the qualities of 
the causes of all that you behold, the laws by which the 
river flows, the periods in which the planets perform their 
revolutions. Everything must supply you with con- 
templation, and renew the consciousness of your own 
dignity.” 

“Lady,” answered he, “let the gay and the vigorous 
expect pleasure in their excursions ; it is enough that age 
can obtain ease. To me the world has lost its novelty : I 
look round and see what I remember to have seen in hap- 
pier days. I rest against a tree, and consider that in the 
same shade 1 once disputed upon the annual overflow of 
the Nile with a friend who is now silent in the grave. I 
cast my eyes upwards, fix them on the changing moon, 
and think with pain on the vicissitudes of life. I have 
ceased to take such delight in physical truth ; for what 
have I to do with those things which I am soon to leave.” 

“ You may at least recreate yourself,” said Imlac, “with 
the recollection of an honorable and useful life, and enjoy 
the praise which all agree to give you.” 

“Praise,” said the sage, with a sigh, “is to an old man an 
empty sound. I have neither mother to be delighted with 
the reputation of her son, nor wife to partake the honors 
of her husband. I have outlived my friends and my 

rivals. Nothing is now of much importance; for I can- 
201 


RASSELAS. 


i 


not extend my interest beyond myself. Youth is de- 
lighted with applause, because it is considered as the 
earnest of some future good, and because the prospect of 
life is far extended : but to me, who am now declining 
to decrepitude there is little to be feared from the malevo- 
lence of men, and yet less to be hoped from their affection 
or esteem. Something they may yet take away, but they 
can give me nothing. Riches would now be useless, and 
high employment would be pain. My retrospect of life 
recalls to my view many opportunities of good neglected, 
much time squandered upon trifles, and more lost in idle- 
ness and vacancy. I leave my great designs unattempted, 
and many great attempts unfinished. My mind is bur- 
dened with no heavy crime, and therefore I compose 
myself to tranquility : endeavor to abstract my thoughts 
from hopes and cares, which, though, reason knows them 
to be vain, still try to keep their o^ possession of the 
heart ; expect, with serene humility, that hour which 
nature cannot long delay: and hope to possess, in a bet- 
ter state, that happiness which here I could not find, and 
that virtue which here I have not attained.” 

He rose and went away, leaving his audience not much 
elated with hope of long life. The prince consoled him- 
self with remarking, that it was not reasonable to be dis- 
appointed by this account ; for age had never been con- 
sidered as the season of felicity ; and if it was possible to 
be easy in decline and weakness, it was likely that the 
days of vigor and alacrity might be happy : that the noon 
of life could be bright if the evening could be calm. 

The princess suspected that age was querulous and 
malignant, and delighted to repress the expectations of 
those who had newly entered the world. She had sren 
the possessors of estates look with envy on their heirs, 
and known many who enjoyed pleasure no longer than 
they could confine it to themselves, 

202 


112 


RASSELAS. 


Pekuah conjectured that the man was older than he 
appeared, and was willing to impute his complaints to 
delirious dejection ; or else supposed that he had been 
unfortunate, and was therefore discontented; “For noth- 
inor,” said she, “is more common than to call our own 
condition the condition of life.” 

Imlac, who had no desire to see them depressed, smiled 
at the comforts which they could so readily procure to 
themselves, and remembered that at the same age he was 
equally confident of -unmingled prosperity, and equally 
fertile of consolotary expedients. He fore bo re to force 
upon them unwelcome knowledge, which time itself 
would too soon impress. The princess and her lady 
retired ; the madness of the astronomer hung upon their 
minds, and they desired Imlac to enter upon his office, 
and delay next morning the rising of the sun. 

CHAPTER XLYI. 

THE PRINCESS AND PEKUAH VISIT THE ASTRONOMER. 

The princess and Pekuah, having talked in private to 
Imlac’s astronomer, thought his character at once so 
amiable and so strange that they could not be satisfied 
without a nearer knowledge ; and Imlaac was requested 
to find the means of bringing them together. 

This was somewhat difficult ; the philosopher had never 
received any visits from women, though he lived in a city 
that had in it many Europeans, who followed the manners 
of their own countries, and many from other parts of the 
world, wno lived there with European liberty. The ladies 
would not be refused, and several schemes were proposed 
for the accomplishment of their design. It was proposed 
to introduce them as strangers in distress, to whom the 
sage was always accessible; but, after some deliberation, 
it appeared that by this artifice no acquaintance could be 
3°3 


RASSELAS. 


”3 


formed, for tlieir conversation would be short, and they 
could not decently importune him often. “This,” said 
Rasselas, “is true ; but I have yet a stronger objection 
against the misrepresentation of your state. I have 
always considered it as treason against the great repub- 
lic of human nature to make a man’s virtues the 
means of deceiving him, whether on great or little 
occasions. All imposture weakens confidence and 
chills benevolence. When the sage finds that 
you are not what you seemed, he will feel the resent- 
ment natural to a man who, conscious of great abilities, 
discovers that he has been tricked by understandings 
meaner than his own ; and, perhaps, the distrust, which 
he can never afterwards wholly lay aside, may stop 
the voice of counsel and close the hand of charity; and 
where will you find the power of restoring his benefac-» 
tions to mankind or his peace to himself?” 

To this no reply was attempted, and Imlao began to 
hope that their curiosity would subside ; but, next day, 
Pekuah told him, she had now found an honest pretence 
for a visit to the astronomer, for she would solicit per^ 
mission to continue under him the studies in which she 
had been initiated by the Arab, and the princess might gq 
with her either as a fellow-student, or because a woman 
could not decently come alone. “I am afraid,” said Im- 
lac, “that he will be soon weary of your company ; men 
advanced far in knowledge do not love to repeat the ele- 
ments of their art; and I am not certain that even of the 
elements, as he will deliver them connected with infers 
ences and mingled with reflections, you are a very capable 
auditress.” “That,” said Pekuah, “must be my care ; I 
p,sk of you only to take me thither. My knowledge is, 
perhaps, more than you imagine it; and, by concurring 
always with opinions, I shall make him think it greater 
than it is.” 

204 


14 


RASSELAS. 


The astronomer, in pursuance of this resolution, was 
told that a foreign lady, traveling in search of knowl- 
edge, had heard of his reputation, and was desirous to 
become his scholar. The uncommonness of the proposal 
raised at once his surprise and curiosity : and when, after 
a short deliberation, he consented to admit her, he could 
not stay without impatience till the next day. 

The ladies dressed themselves magnificently, and were 
attended by Irnlac to the astronomer, who was pleased to 
see himself approached with respect by persons of so 
splendid an appearance. In the exchange of the first 
civilities he was timorous and bashful ; but when the talk 
became regular, he recollected his power, and justified 
the character which Imlac had given. Inquiring of Pek- 
uah r what could have turned her inclination towards as- 
tronomy? he received from her a history of her adventure 
at the Pyramid, and of the time passed in the Arab’s 
island. She told her tale with ease and elegance, and her 
conversation took possession of his heart. The discourse 
was then turned to astronomy : Pekuah displayed what 
she knew, he looked upon her as a prodigy of genius, and 
entreated her not to desist from a study which she had so 
happily begun. 

They came again and again, and were every time more 
welcome than before. The sage endeavored to amuse 
them, that they might prolong their visits, for he found 
his thoughts grow brighter in their company ; the clouds 
of solicitude vanished by degress, as he forced himself to 
entertain them ; and he grieved when he was left at their 
departure to his old employment of regulating the seasons. 

The princess and her favorite had now watched his lips 
for several months, and could not catch a single word 
from which they could judge whether he continued, or 
not, in the opinion of his preternatural commission, 
20 $ 


EASSELAS. 


US 

They often contrived to bring him to an open declaration; 
but he easily eluded all their attacks, and on which side 
soever they pressed him, escaped from them to some 
other topic. 

As their familiarity increased, they invited him often 
to the house of Imlac, where they distinguished him by 
extraordinary respect. He began gradually to delight 
in sublunary pleasures. He came early, and departed 
late; labored to recommend himself by assiduity and 
compliance : excited their curiosity after new arts, that 
they might still want his assistance ; and when they made 
any excursion of pleasure or inquiry, entreated to attend 
them. 

By long experience of his integrity and wisdom, the 
prince and his sister were convinced that he might be 
trusted without danger ; and, lest he should draw any 
false hopes from the civilities which he received, dis- 
covered to him their condition, with the motives of their 
journey ; and required his opinion on the choice of life. 

“Of the various conditions which the world spreads be- 
fore you, which you shall prefer,” said the sage, “I am 
not able to instruct you. I can only tell that I have 
chosen wrong. I have passed my time in study without 
experience ; in the attainment of sciences which can, for 
the most part, be but remotely useful to mankind. I 
have purchased knowledge at the expense of all the com- 
mon comforts of life; I have missed the endearing ele- 
gance of female friendship, and the commerce of domestic 
tenderness. If I have obtained any prerogatives above 
other students, they have been accomplished with fear, 
disquiet, and scrupulosity ; but even of these prerogatives, 
whatever they were, I have, since my thoughts have been 
diversified by more intercourse with the world, begun to 
question the reality. When I have been for a few days 
206 


ii6 


RASSELAS. 


lost in pleasing dissipation, I am always tempted to hitnk 
that my inquiries have ended in error, and that I have 
suffered much, and suffered it in vain.” 

Imlac was delighted to find that the sage’s understand- 
ing was breaking through its mists, and resolved to de- 
tain him from the planets till he should forge this task of 
ruling them, and reason should recover its original in- 
fluence. 

From this time the astronomer was received into famil- 
iar friendship, and partook of all their projects and 
pleasures ; his respect kept him attentive, and the activ- 
ity of Rasselas did not leave much time unengaged. 
Something was always to be done ; the day was spent in 
making observations, which furnished talk for the eve- 
ning, and the evening was closed with a scheme for the 
morrow. 

The sage confessed to Imlac that since he had min- 
gled in the gay tumults of life, and divided his hours bjr 
a succession of amusements, he found the conviction of 
his authority over the skies fade gradually from his 
mind, and began to trust less to an opinion which he 
never could prove to others, and which he now found 
subject to variation, from causes in which reason had no 
part. “If I am accidentally left alone for a few hours,” 
said he, “my inveterate persuasion rushes upon my soul, 
and my thoughts are chained down by some irresistible 
violence ; but they are soon disentangled by the prince’s 
conversation, and instantly released at the entrance of 
Pekuah. I am like a man habitually afraid of spectres, 
who is set at ease by a lamp, and wonders at the dread 
which harrassed him in the dark ; yet, if his lamp be ex- 
tinguished, feels again the terrors which he knows that 
when it is light he shall feel no more. But I am some- 
times afraid lest I indulge my quiet by criminal negli- 


KASSELAS. 


n 7 

gence, and voluntarily forget the great charge with 
which I am *ntrusted. If I favor myself in a known 
error, or am determined by my own ease in a doubtful 
question of this importance, how dreadful is my crime I” 
“No disease of the imagination,” answered Imlac, “is 
so difficult of cure as that which is complicated with the 
dread of guilt: fancy and. conscience then act inter- 
changably upon us, and so often shift their places that 
the illusions of one are not distinguished from the dic- 
tates of the other. If fancy presents images not moral 
or religious, the mind drives them away when they give 
it pain ; but when melancholic notions take the form of 
duty, they lay hold on the faculties without opposition, 
because we are afraid to exclude or banish them. For 
this reason the superstitious are often melancholy, and 
the melancholy almost always superstitious. 

“But do not let the suggestions of timidity overpower 
your better reason ; the danger of neglect can be but as 
the probability of the obligation, which when you con- 
sider it with freedom, you will find very little, and that 
little growing every day less. Open your heart to the 
influence of the light which, from time to time, breaks in 
upon you : when scruples importune you, which you in 
your lucid moments know to be vain, do not stand to 
parley, but fly to business or to Pekuah, and keep this 
thought always prevalent, that you are only one atom of 
the mass of humanity, and have neither such virtue nor 
vice as that you should be singled out for supernatural 
favors or afflictions.” 

CHAPTER XLYII. 

THE PRINCE ENTERS, AND BRINGS A NEW TOPIC. 

“All this,” said the astronomer, “I have often thought, 

but my reason has been so long subjugated by an uncon- 
208 


n8 


KASSELAS. 


trolable and overwhelming idea that it durst not con- 
fide in own decisions. I now see how fatally I betray 
my quiet, by suffering chimeras to prey upon me in 
secret; but melancholy shrinks from communication, 
and I never found a man before to whom I could impart 
my troubles, though I had been certain of relief. I re- 
joice to find my sentiments confirmed by yours, who are 
not easily deceived, and can have no motive or purpose 
to deceive. I hope that time and variety will dissipate 
the gloom that has so long surrounded me, and the latter 
part of my days will be spent in peace.” 

“Your learning and virtue,” said imlac, “may justly 
give you hopes.” 

Rasselas then entered with the princess and Pekuah, 
and inquired whether they had contrived any new diver- 
sion for the next day ? “Such,” said Neka}mh, “is the 
state of life, that none are happy but by the anticipa- 
tion of change : the change itself is nothing ; when we 
have made it, the next wish is to change again. The 
world is not yet exhausted ; let me see something to- 
morrow which I never saw before.” 

“Variety,” said Rasselas, “is so necessary to content, 
that even the happy valley disgusted me by the recur- 
rence of its luxuries, yet I could not forbear to reproach 
myself with impatience when I saw the monks of St. 
Anthony support, without complaint, a life, not of uni- 
form delight, but uniform hardship.” 

“Those men,” answered Imlac, “are less wretched in 
their silent convent than the Abyssinian princes in their 
prison of pleasure. Whatever is done by the monks is 
incited by an adequate and reasonable motive. Their 
labor supplies them with necessaries ; it therefere can- 
not be omitted, and is certainly rewarded. Their devo- 
tion prepares them for another state, and reminds them 
209 


EASSELAS. 


119 

of its approach while it fits them for it. Their time is 
regularly distributed : one duty succeeds another, so that 
they are not left open to the distraction of unguided 
choice, nor lost in the shades of listless inactivity. There 
is a certain task to be performed at an appropriated hour; 
and their toils are eheerful because they consider them 
as acts of piety, by which they are always advancing 
towards endless felicity.” 

“Do not think,” said Neka} 7 ah, “that the monastic rule 
is a more holy and less imperfect state than any other ? 
May not he equally hope for future happiness who con- 
verses openly with mankind, who succors the distressed 
by his charity, instructs the ignorant by his learning, and 
contributes by his industry to the general system of life ; 
even though he should omit some of the mortifications 
which are practised in the cloister, and allow himself such 
harmless delights as his condition may place within his 
reach ?” 

“This,” said Imlac, “is a question which has long di- 
vided the wise and perplexed the good. I am afraid to 
decide on either part. He that lives well in the world is 
better than he that lives well in a monastery. But, per- 
haps, every one is not able to stem the temptations of 
public life ; and if he cannot concur, he may properly 
retreat. Some have little power to do good, and have 
likewise little strength to resist evil. Many are weary of 
their conflicts with adversity, and are willing to eject 
those passions which have long busied them in vain. And 
many are dismissed by age and diseases from the more 
laborious duties of society. In monasteries the weak and 
timorous may be happily sheltered, the weary may repose, 
and the penitent may meditate. Those retreats of prayer 
and contemplation have something so congenial to the 
mind of man, that perhaps there is scarcely one that does 
210 


20 


RASSELAS. 


not purpose to close his life in pious abstraction with a 
few associates serious as himself.” 

“Such,” said Pekuali, “has often been my wish, and I 
have heard the princess declare that she should not 
willingly die in a crowd.” 

“The liberty of using harmless pleasure,” proceeded 
Imlac, “will not be disputed ; but it is still to be examined 
what pleasures are harmless. The evil of any pleasure 
that Nekayah can imagine is not in the act itself, but in 
its consequences. Pleasure, in itself harmless, may be- 
come mischievous by endearing us to a state which we 
know to be transient and probatory, and withdrawing our 
thoughts from that of which every hour brings us nearer 
to the beginning, and of which no length of time will 
bring us to the end. Mortification is not virtuous in it- 
self, nor has any other use but that it disengages us from 
allurements of sense. In the state of future perfection, 
to which we all aspire, there will be pleasure without 
danger, and security without restraint.” 

The princess was silent, and Rasselas, turning to the 
astronomer, asked him, “whether he could not delay her 
retreat by showing her something which she had not seen 
before ?” 

“Your curiosity,” said the sage, “has been so general, 
and your pursuit of knowledge so vigorous, that novelties 
are not now very easily to be found ; but what you can 
no longer procure from the living may be given by the 
dead. Among the wonders of this country are the Cata- 
combs, or the ancient repositories in which the bodies of 
the earliest generations were lodged, and where, by the 
virtue of the gums which embalmed them, they yet re- 
main without corruption.” 

“I know not,” said Rasselas, “what pleasure the sight 

of the Catacombs can afford j but, since nothing else is 
211 


RASSELAS. 


1 2 1 


offered, I am resolved to view them, and shall place this 
with many other things which I have done because I 
would do something.” 

They hired a guard of horsemen, and the next day 
visited the Catacombs. When they were about to descend 
into the sepulchral caves, “Pekuah,” said the princess, 
“we are now again invading the habitations of the dead ; 
I know that you will stay behind ; let me find you safe 
when I return.” “No ; I will not be left,” answered 
Pekuah, “I will go down between you and the prince.” 

They then all descended, and roved with wonder 
through the labyrinth of subterraneous passages, where 
the bodies were laid in rows on eit 1 "^ side. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

IMLAC DISCOURSES ON THE NATURE OF THE SOUL. 

“What reason,” said the prince, “can be given why the 
Egyptians should thus expensively preserve those car- 
casses which some nations consume with fire, others lay 
to mingle with the earth, and all agree to remove from 
their sight as soon as decent rites can be performed ?” 

“The original ancient custom,” said Imlac, “is com- 
monly unknown ; for the practice often continues when 
the cause has ceased ; and concerning superstitious cere- 
monies it is vain to conjecture ; for what reason did not 
dictate, reason cannot explain. I have long believed 
that the practice of embalming arose only from tender- 
ness to the remains of relations or friends, and to this 
opinion I am more inclined because it seems impossible 
that this care should have been general ; had all the dead 
been embalmed, their repositories must in time have been 
more spacious than the dwelling of the living. I suppose 
212 


122 


EASSELAS. 


only the rich or honorable were secured from corruption, 
and the rest left to the course ©f nature. 

“But it is commonly supposed that the Egyptians be- 
lieved the soul to live as long as the body continued un- 
dissolved, and therefore tried this method of eluding 
death.” 

“Could the wise Egyptians,” said Nekayah, “think so 
grossly of the soul ? If the soul could once survive its 
separation, what could it afterwards receive or suffer 
from the body ?” 

“The Egyptians would doubtless think erroneously,” 
said the astronomer, “in the darkness of heathenism and 
the first dawn of philosophy. The nature of the soul is 
still disputed amidst all our opportunities of clearer 
knowledge : some yet say that it may be material, who 
nevertheless believe it to be immortal.” 

“Some,” answered Imlac, “have indeed said that the 
soul is material, but I can scarcely believe that any man 
has thought it, who knew how to think ; for all the con- 
clusions of reason enforce the immateriality of mind, and 
all the notices of sense and investigation of science con- 
cur to prove the unconsciousness of matter.” 

“It was never supposed that cogitation is inherent in 
matter, or that every particle is a thinking being. Yet, 
if an}r part of matter be devoid of thought, what part can 
we suppose to think ? Matter can differ from matter only 
in form, density, bulk, motion, and direction of motion : 
to which of these, however varied or combined, can con- 
sciousness be annexed ? To be round or square, to be 
solid or fluid, to be great or little, to be moved slowly or 
swiftly one way or another, are modes of material ex- 
istence, all equally alien from the nature of cogitation. 
If matter be once without thought, it can only be made 

to think by some new modification, but all the modifica- 
213 


RASSELAS . 123 

tions which it can admit are equally unconnected with 
cogitative powers.” 

“But the materialists,” said the astronomer, “urge that 
matter may have qualities with which we are unacquain- 
ted.” “He who will determine,” returned Imlac, “against 
that which he knows, because there may be something 
which he knows not ; lie that can set hypothetical pos- 
sibility against acknowledged certainty, is not to be ad- 
mitted among reasonable beings. All that we know of 
matter is, that matter is inert, senseless, and lifeless; and 
if this conviction cannot be opposed but by referring us 
to something that we know not, we have all the evidence 
that human intellect can admit. If that which is known 
may be overruled by that which is unknown, no being, 
not omniscient, can arrive at certainty.” 

“Of immateriality,” said Imlac, “our ideas are nega- 
tive, and therefore obscure. Immateriality seems to im- 
ply a natural power of perpetual duration as a consequence 
of exemption from all causes of decay : whatever perishes 
is destroyed by the solution of its contexture, and sep- 
aration of its parts ; nor can we conceive how that which 
has no parts, and therefore admits no solution, can be 
naturally corrupted or impaired.” 

“I know not,” said Rasselas, “how to conceive any- 
thing without extension ; what is extended must have 
parts, and you allow that whatever has parts may be 
destroyed.” 

“Consider your own conceptions,” replied Imlac, “and 
the difficulty will be less. You will find substance with- 
out extension. An ideal form is no less real than ma- 
terial bulk : yet an ideal form has no extension. It is no 
less certain, when you think on a pyramid, that your 
mind possesses the idea of a pyramid than that the 

pyramid itself is standing. What space does the idea of 
214 


RASSELAS. 


124 

a pyramid occupy more than the idea of a grain of corn ? 
or how can either suffer laceration ?” 

“ But the Being,” said Nekayah, “ whom I fear to name, 
the Being which made the soul, can destroy it.” 

“ He surely can destroy it,” answered Imlac, “ since, 
however unperishable, it receives from a superior nature 
its power of duration. That it will not perish by any in- 
herent cause of decay or principle of corruption, may be 
shown by philosophy ; but philosophy can tell no more. 
That it will not be annihilated by him that made it, we 
must humbly learn from higher authority.” The whole 
assembly stood awhile silent and collected. u Let us 
return,” said Rasselas, “ from the scene of mortalit}'. 
How gloomy would be these mansions of the dead to him 
who did not know that he should never die, that what 
now acts shall continue its agency, and what now thinks 
shall think on forever.” 

They then hastened out of the caverns and under the 
protection of their guard returned to Cairo. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

THE CONCLUSION, IN WHICH NOTHING IS CONCLUDED. 

It was now the time of the inundation of the Nile : a 
few days after their visit to the Catacombs, the river be- 
gan to rise. 

They were confined to their house. The whole region 
being under water gave them no invitation to any excur- 
sions, and being well supplied with materials for talk, 
they diverted themselves with comparisons of the dif- 
ferent forms of life which they had observed, and with 
various schemes of happiness which each of them had 
formed. 

215 


KASSELAS. 


125 


Pekuah was never so much charmed with any place as 
the convent of St. Anthony, where the Arab restored her 
to the princess, and wished only to fill it with pious 
maidens, and to be made prioress of the order ; she was 
weary of expectation and disgust, and would gladly be 
fixed in some unvariable state. 

The princess thought that of all sublunary things 
knowledge was the best : she desired first to learn all 
sciences, and then proposed to found a college of learned 
women, in which she would preside, that, by conversing 
with the old, and educating the young, she might divide 
her time between the acquisition and communication of 
wisdom, and raise up for the next age models of pru- 
dence, and patterns of piety. 

The prince desired a little kingdom, in which he might 
administer justice in his own person, and see all the parts 
of government with his own eyes ; but he could never 
fix the limits of his dominion, and was always adding to 
the number of his subjects. 

Imlac and the astronomer were contented to be driven 
along the stream of life, without directing their course 
to any particular port. 

Of these wishes that they had formed they well knew 
that none could be obtained. They deliberated a while 
what was to be done, and resolved, when the inundation 
should cease, to return to Abyssinia. 


216 


THE END, 




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